Demon Boys
by HigherMagic
Summary: Just a series of one-shots in which the boys are evil and together in hell, featuring BoyKing!Sam and demon!Dean, loosely tied together with plot. Very M and very dark. Enjoy!
1. Inner Beauty

**Inner Beauty**

**Demon!Sam/Demon!Dean**

**Rated: NC-17**

**Okay, so after watching some really disturbing episodes of Medium, this came into my head. I'm making no excuses for myself – I am definitely going to hell.**

**Warnings: Oh God…um…rape. Torture. Graphic, GRAPHIC, violence. Wincest of the Sam/Dean variety. Demon!boys. No redeeming factors whatsoever. PLEASE read with caution, 'kay? (:**

**Summary: Dean gets to play, and Sam gets to watch. They do this every night, and it's not going to get old.

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She's beautiful. With wide, innocent green eyes and a fiery mane of red-brown hair, and mile-long legs that are just the most gorgeous shade of golden tan, she's a goddess. A sight to behold, and worthy of any man's attention and woman's jealousy.

Dean knows how to make her just that little bit prettier.

He focuses on her lips first. They're gorgeous and luscious and full – she must have some Hispanic origin in there, because they certainly aren't fake – and she's painted them purple and shiny for the occasion of going out with her girlfriends. He kneels down, a Cheshire cat smile on his face as he kisses her, long and slow and teasing. She moans at first when he takes her bottom lip in his mouth and tugs, pulls her so she's kneeling, because she's a submissive little wildcat, all sheathed claws and mane and curling mouth. He's got a knife in the hand behind his back, but she doesn't need to know that. Not yet, anyway.

She whimpers a little when he bites down, tugging just a little more, so it's more pain than pleasure now, and he can feel it, vibrating in the most sensuous caress right in his very soul. The need, the desire to see blood and to have it be shed by his hand. Dean bites clean through her lip, teeth that are just a little too sharp piercing her easily, and she squeals and tries to pull away. He doesn't let her – the choice it to either retreat or lose her lip, and the saline smell of tears stings at his nose when she decides to wait the pain out, to hope he stops.

He won't stop. He licks at her broken skin like a cat at mother's milk, drinking it down and she doesn't move, because she's afraid now. He can smell her fear like the sweetest scent of vanilla and wood spice, of blood and sex and chocolate, and it makes the need in him grow until he's growling with it, just under his breath for now because she's not quite sure what to make of him yet, and he doesn't want to give the game away so easily.

He stands up, and she still doesn't move. Her bottom lip bears his bite, a clean cut straight through that will scar if he lets her live long enough to let it. It's then, that he draws the knife out, holding the curved scimitar-like blade in front of him and examining it in the dim glow of the lights outside. She hasn't seen it yet – his back is turned.

Maybe scimitar is the wrong word. Yes; it looks more like a scythe.

He twirls it in his palm, and the blade is so sharp he can feel it cut him even though it doesn't touch him. He shivers when his blood spills over, eyes flickering into the corner of the room, to something she hasn't seen yet.

Sammy will be able to smell the blood.

But now is not the time to get distracted, because Dean has work to do and he's going to do it. He turns around, not bothering to hide the blade now as he holds it by his side, his bleeding arm oozing the lifeblood that runs down his wrist now, staining his skin and the blade he holds. Her beautiful green eyes widen, and she tries to move away, but she can't. Dean made sure of that.

"Oh my God…" Her whimper is cut short when Dean is suddenly there, lightning fast, holding the tip of his blade against her broken lip for silence. She swallows, tears in her eyes as they meet his, soulless and abyss-black.

"Shh," he purrs, like the spider to the fly, blinking away the ochre filter until there's just that alluring green again, that innocent humanity that he wears so well, and he smiles at her like he's the kindly next door neighbor, asking to borrow some milk or flour. "You have to be quiet, sweetheart. We don't want a lot of noise." She whimpers again as his eyes flicker, this time to another corner, and she knows now that they're not alone. Dean stands, twirling the blade again, this time cutting his other wrist in a deliberate move, a taunt for Sammy to come forward and drink, and play, and just below the edge of human hearing, there's a snarl.

Dean smirks, and looks down at the girl again. He can't remember her name. Won't after this.

She's so fucking pretty…

He wants to go for her eyes, because they're so damn pretty and innocent, and he wants to rip them out. Or…maybe just slice at them until they're bleeding, and make her cry like the statue of Mary…bloody tears would go beautifully with her complexion. He kneels down again, his stare so intent upon her face that he doesn't quite notice her moving her arm, grabbing the stiletto that could kill a man residing at her heel. She moves quickly, but he's quicker, catching her arm in a bone-crushing grip, halting the tip of her shoe an inch from his temple.

The snarl that comes then is louder.

"Ah, ah, ah, sweetheart," he says, like a parent affectionately mocking a child. He turns to look at the shoe, plucking it from her limp grip now, and tosses it away. "You're going to have to behave, or I'll restrain you." His voice is whisper soft, and it feels like smoke and ash against her skin. The beautiful call he had used luring her in was gone now – now, it was just fire and ash and brimstone and glorious death.

He will go for her hair, he thinks. He takes the blade, and holds her chin steady like he is merely examining her, before he slides the scythe up over her ear, against her head and pressing, dangerously close to cutting her. In fact, he does a little, and she jerks in his grip at the pain of it as he slides the blade up, hacking off one side of her fiery mane. The hair falls to the ground like feathers, and Dean smirks a little, watching it litter the floor. He picks up a chunk of her hair, watching it again, and it begins to burn in his grip. The smell is unpleasant and she wrinkles her nose, eyes watering and blood running down the side of her face.

Dean smiles, and closes his eyes, and breathes in. She smells like a bar and perfume, and rust. His eyes are black when they open again – he knows they are – and he leans in for a taste. She jerks away but his hold is strong, tongue just touching the wound on the side of her head, testing around it like he knows it's sensitive before dipping in for a proper sample. The flavor explodes on his tongue, forceful enough that he's dizzy with it, and he moans into what's left of her hair, gripping it tightly in his hand as he pulls. She screams when he pulls out another chunk of hair, the wound on her lip reopening as she bites it to muffle her shout, because she remembers what he said about noise, and she's still stupidly hopeful that he's not crazy enough to kill her. She'll be fine as long as she's alive.

Her eyes are glazed with pain and tears. It makes them brighter, and Dean can't help himself. He takes a good long look at those grassy eyes, framed with thick mascara and eye shadow the same color as her lipstick, and he smiles. The blade slides easily into her skin above her eye, and he cuts shallowly, angling it so the blood runs perfectly down the inside of her straight button-nose, and frames her mouth perfectly. Sammy always loves it when he paints them up like this. She's so beautiful.

She's crying, and the tears are mixing with the blood, messing with his designs. He wishes he had tools precise enough for proper removal of the tear ducts, but that's for another time.

His cock is hard and ready in his jeans, ready to slather himself in this bitch's blood and let Sammy have his turn. But he's not quite done yet – she has a glorious body. Small, pert breasts and no stomach to speak of, and her _legs…_all just hidden under a skin-tight purple and golden dress that's gorgeous on her, and he cuts it off with one clean cut. She whimpers once more as it falls around her, and that sound is really starting to annoy Dean. He wants to silence her, but again, his tools at hand are too simple. Sammy has no patience for finesse.

She's kneeling in a pool of purple and gold and red. The colors of the Holy Spirit. They're beautiful, and Dean wants to drown in them, but he has a better way to die right in front of him. Her breasts heave with every sob, her frame shuddering, because she wants to run – Dean can see it in every tense muscle covering her lithe, slim body – but she can't, because the demon brothers won't let her. She's trapped and she's theirs for the night.

They don't intend for her to last that long.

Dean runs the tip of his blade up her neck and chin, forcing her to raise her head. The blade leaves a thin line of blood behind that runs down her neck, between her breasts and pools in her belly button, and she's blinking rapidly every now and again to stop herself being blinded by her own blood, but head wounds bleed a lot. She's got no hope for it.

He leans in to inhale her scent again. Fear, pain, anxiety and such an intoxicating amount of endorphins that it damn near makes Dean collapse. The demon leans in and bites at her neck, hard enough to break through her skin at the same time he slides the knife down her chest, caressing her left breast as he bites her and drinks down her blood. She tastes like cinnamon and apple crisp, and he savors her with a low moan-growl that is anything but human, riding her knee and the top of her thigh as he grinds his hard cock against her silky skin. She whimpers when she realizes just exactly he's going to add to the list of things he'll do to her.

Sam is snarling in the corner. He loves this; loves every second of it – how much his brother loves doing this, and loves performing for him – would do it three times a night if they could get away with it.

Dean knows Sam is watching – hell, it was his idea – and he wants to make this good for Sammy, because really, Dean is up here having all the fun and that's not very fair. "Sweetheart, what did I say about being quiet?" he asks, withdrawing enough to speak as her blood becomes a warm molasses in his throat, dripping down sickly and sweet. He smiles at her and his teeth are stained with blood. "If you don't learn to be quiet, I'm going to have to silence you myself and I'd rather you were alive for this."

She swallows, doesn't know whether she'd rather die or live, but says nothing. Dean smiles again.

"There you go. Good girl," he coos, brushing what remains of her hair from her face, and then his blade is suddenly there, hard and unforgiving as it slides right into the side of her breast. She gasps; face twisted in pain as he digs in, just shy of piercing her ribcage. Her breathing is getting faster and her heart flutters like a hummingbird's wings. His other hand catches the blood that drips down, mixing with his own, and he makes her body into a canvas, finger-painting all sorts of warding symbols and sigils that, ever since the Winchester rise to power, have meant nothing against them. Salt and holy water don't work, and they never will.

She's crying and shuddering and sobbing, and he's getting tired of this game, now. He wants to fuck her. Wants to feel her clench in pain when he slides in and fucks her and claws at her, bites and slashes at her. He looks to Sammy for permission, and just out of the corner of his eye, he sees his brother nod, and breathes a sigh of relief.

He's already naked. Has been from the get-go, because they were here for sex, and sex is what he's going to give her.

He presses her thighs apart with the handle of his knife, manhandles her with his mind so that she's on all fours, facing away from Sammy's corner. She's shuddering and shivering and sighing and making so much _noise, _and it's hurting Sammy's ears – he can feel that. Bitch needs to learn to keep quiet.

He kneels up behind her, sees her back as a completely blank canvas to work with, and thrusts in without a thought. She chokes on her scream when he gags her with a second knife, this one smaller, that cuts her beautiful Hispanic lips on the entrance, and he wraps it around her head so she can't spit it out. She's choking on her own blood where she can't control her tongue enough to avoid the knife, and he's laughing as he fucks her, mounting her like an animal, brutal with it because it's always good when it's hard and fast and dirty.

Dean loses all sense of finesse, then. He slashes and hacks at her with the single-minded purpose that she's dead by the time he comes. She whines and screams and she's swallowing her own blood, and there's something so filthy-_wrong _about that, and it makes the demon shiver with pleasure, loving the contract-clench of her muscles, spasming in pain when he dips the knife against her shoulder, cuts deep in one stroke that goes to the bone, marking a giant cross on her back, and he laughs at the irony of it. She's praying – he can feel it like an itch under his skin, but he doesn't care, because things like that can't hurt him anymore.

He leans forward, gets a hand around her throat, and tilts her head back so that she can't swallow easily. He puts pressure on her larynx so even moving her throat muscles is the hardest damn thing she's ever done in her life, and she's crying and begging and sobbing, pleading for mercy, but that's the thing – there is no mercy with demons.

By the time she chokes on her last breath, he's just about ready to come or die. He pulls out of her, lets her limp body collapse on to the floor, and kneels instead by her head. The knife slips right out through her upper lip, blood pooling out of her mouth, and it's still warm when Dean thrusts in, moaning at the wetness of her blood in her mouth as it squelches and paints his cock, and he grabs the dead remaining chunks of her hair, fucking her mouth until he comes. He stills for a long moment, watching her dead eyes watch him, before pulling out, breathing hard, sweaty and covered in blood, and leans down to pet her hair.

"Good girl," he purrs, nuzzling into the bite mark he left behind, before he's thrown back against the wall, away from his kill. He growls, struggling, eyes black and out for blood, but Sammy's there, suddenly, all beautiful exposed skin and yellow, glowing eyes and murderous, dangerous aura.

Dean purrs in submission, baring his throat for his brother, an advantage that Sam takes immediately, pressing his hand against Dean's neck as he kisses his brother, fucking Dean's mouth with his tongue. Dean tastes like her blood, and it's fucking delicious, and the older demon sighs into Sammy's mouth, pliant and willing and so turned on it's unreal.

Sam's just as brutal with Dean as Dean had been with the girl – Maria, he suddenly remembers. She was called Maria. He throws his brother onto the bed and pins him there with his mind, and Dean just lays back and takes it because they both know who's really in charge when they're like this, and Sam's so ready to fuck his brother in oblivion that the only preparation he uses is to take his own turn in Maria's mouth, liberally slicking his cock with her blood and Dean's come, before he's fucking into his brother. Dean arches for him, thrusting his hips back onto Sam's cock like the wanton slut he is for it, and there's no words, because Sam doesn't like much sound, because the demons don't need words to communicate, and Dean grabs for Sam's head once his little brother lets him free, biting into Sam's mouth and tasting his own blood, and Dean moans as Sam fucks into him, because even when the need that's always deep down in his gut is satisfied, he'll always want Sam. Sam is beautiful, and Sam is perfect.

Sam doesn't need any work. His black soul is the most beautiful thing Dean's ever seen.


	2. Playtime

**Title: **Playtime**  
Author:** HigherMagic  
**Pairings:** Demon!Dean/Demon!Sam/Fallen!Slave!Brainwashed!Castiel  
**Rating:** NC-17  
**Word Count:** WIP  
**Spoilers: **None (This is AU)  
**Summary:** Dean gets this whole wing to himself, and a couple of months ago he caught an Angel, and got to train him and play with him. Now, it's time for the debut.  
**Notes/Warnings:** Lots of bloody, gorey, evil boys doing stuff to each other.

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With a final scream, and a delicious little knot-and-tug, the body slumps to the floor. She was beautiful, at one point, with flaxen blonde hair and eyes the color of the Earth sky, but now she's…red. An Irish red, if Dean could guess, and painted crimson by his brush – his knife. She's even prettier now, and in a few minutes she'll heal, and he can start all over again.

He turns around, sensing a presence, and catches Sam watching him out of the corner of his black-ringed eye. Dean grins, twirls his blade, and kneels, pretending like he didn't see Sam. He lets the blade drop with a clatter that echoes around the empty room, dipping his fingers in a dark, thick pool of her blood, which he then scoops into his mouth, sucking it in like it's the most delicious thing he's ever tasted.

He moans, and Sam clears his throat, calling his attention to the Boy King. Dean stands and turns to him.

"Did ya see me, Sammy? Did ya?" He's childlike, grinning with an innocent, terrifying glee as he goes up to his younger brother, wrapping his arms around Sam's broad shoulders, fingers threading in his hair. The Boy King purrs and leans down, smiling against Dean's bottom lip that's reddened with blood and just a little chapped, dry against his own as he nuzzles into Dean's mouth, loving how submissive his big brother is against him as the older demon tilts his head back, lets him have his way – as always – his fingers curling gently in Sam's hair.

"Hmmm…I did, Dean," Sam replies, his arms snaking easily around Dean's waist and holding him close, grabbing his ass with one hand and splaying along his back with the other, so Dean can feel every line of him, hard muscle against softer, toned flesh. The Boy King moans as Dean rolls his hips against him, the teasing little slut. "It was beautiful. You're truly an artist." Dean chuckles – giggles, more like – against him, mouth opening to grin and Sam is quick to take advantage, tongue sliding into Dean's mouth effortlessly, tasting the blood and semen and sulfur gathered there.

Dean's been playing for some time, it seems.

The older Winchester brother gets an entire wing of Sam's palace to himself, to play in and roam as he pleases, and Dean's so happy there. He has all he could ever want, from the all-you-can-eat pie buffet that he frequently gorges himself on, to the dungeons that are directly underneath his bedroom, so he can hear the screams as he sleeps. They give him good dreams.

Dean smiles again, threads his first two fingers around Sam's first and tugs, pulling him along like a child does an adult's shirt sleeve, still grinning in that eager, child-like way. When his hand isn't enough, he lures Sam forward with his kiss or his body, a siren call that the Boy King never ignores, and they repeatedly find themselves up against a wall, shattering the gold-plated walls and sending 'art' crashing to the ground on the way to Dean's personal play area.

The interior is usually dark, and beautiful, covered in slime and saliva and gorgeous bloody spills. Chains hang down in no particular pattern – at least, there would be none to the untrained eye. Dean designed this place himself, and if one looks carefully, and everyone is strung up just right, the bindings form a perfect Devil's Trap. Dean likes to laugh at the irony, because they don't affect him here.

The dungeon is usually dark, but right now it shines. Full of blinding, brilliant light the color of a violet star, and Dean tugs his little brother into the warmth of it. It's full of heat, and brilliance, and it flares defensively as Dean comes closer, before the demon purrs and nuzzles into it, his hands gripping at something that Sam can't quite see yet.

"Shh, Angel," his brother purrs, hands caressing the light at hip-height, his eyes black and his smile serene and gently, voice calm like he uses when he's very, very close to the kill. "It's just me. Just Dean, Angel."

Slowly, the light calms under Dean's gentle touch, like an animal recognizing its master after so long with strangers, and the light fades slightly. The creature is still obviously afraid, his Grace quivering with the restraint it's taking not to fight back, but Dean is patience epitomized as he soothes the thing down, back into a relatively human shape.

The Angel has the brightest blue eyes Sam's ever seen, and alabaster skin, and jet black hair that looks like it belonged in a demon's eyes. He's beautiful, full lips parted and bleeding, red staining the side of his face as he quivers, facing the wall because his hands are manacled to keep him that way, with only enough give in them for him to kneel. Dean's hands touch him like the Angel belongs to him, and Sam knew his brother had caught an Angel a couple of months ago, but he thought Dean had killed it. He wasn't expecting…subservience.

Dean turns, so his body is behind the Angel, pressed up against him at every possible angle, and the Angel bites his lip, head bent forward as he braces himself against the wall. The inner light glowing within him darkens for a moment when Dean's presence surrounds him, black with desire and lust and devotion, and Sam smirks, realizing what Dean has done.

He's made the Angel need him. Fall for him.

And _that _is a talent beyond artistry.

"What's this beauty's name, Dean?" he asks, his voice a mix of a growl and a purr, and the Angel's eyes flash open and towards him, light flaring in defense, because he's never seen another demon before, not since Dean, and it's sort of like a sensory deprivation. Dean bites down very lightly below the Angel's ear, earning him a low whimper and another thrust back against the demon's cock, and they're almost fucking now. Would be if it weren't for the relatively thin barrier of Dean's pants against the Angel's ass.

Dean smiles when the Angel stops trying to fight again, hands curling into the cold stone of the wall, fingernails being bent back from the force of it, blood running down them from where they are red and sore-looking. "Come on, Angel, you know how to talk. You used to do it so much…I miss you voice. Speak, Angel, tell us your name," Dean croons, tone so persuasive that even Sam is affected by it, and if Sam knew Dean was such a good manipulator, he would have tasked him with much bigger things that playtime long ago.

"Cas…tiel," the Angel gasps out, whining from the back of his throat and baring his teeth when Dean smiles and bites him again, harder this time in the shoulder, and grabs for the Angel's ribcage, using it as leverage to thrust against, so he's really riding the valley of the Angel's ass now. "My name is Castiel."

"Mmm…a pretty name for a pretty Angel, isn't it, Sammy?" Dean asks, his eyes onyx with excitement as he runs a hand down Castiel's stomach, bending over him so he's practically covering the smaller creature with his body, wrapping a loose fist around Castiel's cock and pumping so it's just on _this _side of pleasurable. "He's beautiful, isn't he?"

Sam nods, because there's no denying that having such a powerful enemy struck down and begging for demon cock is a huge power thrill, and that sort of thing gets the Boy King going like nothing else. He's tempted to ask for a turn with him, but Dean is pretty damn territorial of his playthings, especially something that _is _so damn beautiful it's hard to look at. Castiel's head dips forward and he whimpers, rocking his hips forward into Dean's hand, then back against Dean's cock, so fucking wanton and breathless for it that he's more of a cock slut than Dean is.

"He sure is, Dean," Sam replies, low, as he stalks forward, and even though Castiel is losing himself, his Grace still flares _protectively _at Sam's approach. Not for himself, but for Dean – trying to protect his 'mate'. Sam almost laughs at it. "Very…pretty…" He lifts Castiel's head with his hand, tilting his chin up, and the Angel snarls at him, jerking his head away with enough force that the chains binding him rattle.

"Don't touch me," he growls, teeth bared and stained around the edge with blood, glaring at Sam out of the corner of his eye, because he's already braced for a blow, but the demons just laugh.

Dean almost turns savage, then, the harshest he's been with the Angel since their beginning, and he hisses, rearing up to bite down between Castiel's shoulder blades, where his wings would be if Dean let them out, and the Angel cries out in agony, falling to his knees. Dean lets him go, surrendering his handholds so he doesn't fall.

"He can fuck you dry if he wants to," Dean growls, eyes flashing, and Castiel whimpers, but doesn't curl away. No, he's too devoted for that – Sam watches in amazement as, instead, he lifts his head to look at Sam, eyes so wide and blue and _pretty _that Sam's taken aback, for a moment, before the Angel is suddenly right there, kneeling in front of him. His breathing is hard and warm on Sam's cock through the jeans that he wears more out of habit than anything else, and Castiel is quick with undoing them, intent on making it up to the demon who's obviously so important to his master, his mate, and it's not long before he's swallowing Sam's cock down like a pro, taking him deep into his mouth, into that wet suction-tight heat.

"Fuck," Sam growls, fingers knotting in the thick, soft clumps of Castiel's hair, fucking into his mouth easily and not caring if the Angel gags on him. He flashes black eyes up at Dean, who's watching like he's a starving man eyeing up a steak. "He's fucking good at this, Dean. Been giving him practice?"

The older demon meets his brother's eyes, and smirks. "Oh, he's a natural. That _voice, _Sammy – could fucking come just from listening to the sounds he makes. He can't sing though – there's only one thing a mouth like that is good for."

And ain't that the truth. Castiel's full, blood-reddened lips were stretched wide, and just a little chapped like Dean's were, and he was angling his head, allowed that little bite of freedom as he took Sam down, letting the demon fuck his mouth savagely. He's gagging every other thrust or so and he doesn't even move to shy away or stop Sam, because he's a good Angel and all good Angels get fucked. It's just the way of things. It's a reward.

Sam explodes, hot and salty and bitter along his tongue, and Castiel holds it in his mouth because Sam hasn't told him to swallow yet. The flavor is quite unpleasant, but he milks Sam for all he can while the demon comes, using his own release as extra slick, before pulling out. A little trail escapes before Castiel can stop it, but he holds the rest in. Cheeks flushed and lips swollen, he looks thoroughly debauched. Castiel whines when Sam steps away, the demon breathing hard and flushed as well, but then suddenly Dean's there, and Dean makes everything alright. The Angel sighs lightly, relaxing when the demon kneels in front of him, eyes raking over his face with an appraising look, before he leans up, sealing his lips over Castiel's. The Angel moans, melting into the demon's heat as Dean's tongue slides in, licking over the roof of his mouth in a move that makes Castiel shiver, hands firmly behind his back because he's not allowed to move yet, and he can't anyway – the shackles don't reach that far.

Dean cups his chin, tilting his head up, and Dean kneels so they can keep kissing, the demon's tongue licking at his brother's come in Castiel's mouth, and his very Grace shivers at the wrongness of it, but it's so deliciously decadent, and he's already fallen anyway. His wings burn where they attach to his body as Dean pets through his hair, finally pulling away with a purr.

"Good Angel," he murmurs, smiling and Castiel offers a shy, coy one in return. "Swallow."

He does, grateful for it because the taste was starting to get to him, and gasps out a breath. Dean's already back there, licking at the thin line of come running down the corner of his mouth, and over the demon's shoulder Castiel can still see Sam, watching them with heat in his eyes and his cock already hard again, flushed and huge and curling up towards his belly. Castiel sighs gently, burying his face in Dean's neck – he's ready to get fucked now. Needs it, like he needs Dean and air and food – which are suddenly important now that he's fallen.

"Something on your mind, Angel?" Dean purrs, brushing the blood-and-sweat-matted hair from Castiel's face, thumb brushing over the first and only permanent wound Dean ever gave him; a thin line from the Angel's own blade along his temple, down to the corner of his eye and disappearing into his hairline. Castiel turns his head into the touch, licking at the sensitive underside of Dean's wrist, and the demon smiles, looking back over his shoulder at his brother. "Would you be willing to join us, Sammy?"

The Boy King smiles, his eyes flashing yellow, his teeth just a little too sharp to be normal, and he cocks his head to one side. "I'm going to fuck you, Dean, when you're balls deep in your Angel. I don't think the little slut can take us both so soon."

Dean 'hmm's to himself gently, taking Castiel's chin in his hand again and raising the Angel's face as he stands, watching him appraisingly, before his full, slightly chapped lips purse and he nods. "I think you're right – I'll work on it with him," he says with a Cheshire cat smile that sends shivers through Castiel's Grace, and both demons laugh again. "Stand up, Angel," Dean says, pulling up Castiel by the chin so that the Angel is forced to clamber upright or lose his jaw, until he is standing, just an inch shorter than Dean, and the demon leans forward to pin him against the back wall.

The iron handcuffed around his wrists dig painfully into the thin, bird-like bones in his arm, and Castiel whimpers very slightly, arching away from the suddenness of the cold brick wall, only to find the warm demon body resisting his press, keeping him down. Castiel holds himself with such sweet surrender that Dean growls, clawing at him with a desperate air, forcing his only piece of clothing off and away so his hard cock can rub against the Angel's, a teasing little grind that has them both shuddering and sighing into each other. Castiel reaches forward, daring with his touch, to hold Dean's hips and ride his thigh, and the demon lets him, finds it amusing, in fact, as he bites and licks at Castiel's lips, making them swollen and red and beautiful. The Angel breaks the kiss reluctantly, panting for the air he needs, as the demon's attention goes to his neck, to his racing, fluttering pulse, and then Sam is there too. He's shed his jeans as well, so all three men are naked, now, and Castiel whimper-hisses as Sam leans over his brother's shoulder, drawing Castiel's bottom lip into his mouth, his eyes flashing yellow before he closes them and Castiel opens up to him, drawing him in with his wickedly talented mouth.

The chains are all twisted around Castiel's body from his manhandling, and Dean forces him to his knees again, and around, so that they untwist and Castiel is facing the wall now. He braces himself, forearms flat against it, framing his forehead as he leans there too, and exhales, and waits. His wings shudder, confined in his vessel, and he almost sobs when Dean sinks his teeth into Castiel's spine, and the Angel bucks, arches, torn between intense pleasure and incredible pain, and he'd be sagging against the wall if Dean's hands weren't holding him up.

Dean kicks his legs apart, using the blood from Castiel's back to slick his cock up, and grabs his hips, and starts to push in. Castiel's still loose and wet from just a few hours before, and Dean growls at the tight grip of his muscles around the demon's cock. Castiel's such a slut for it – he can feel the Angel's body trying to keep him in, clamping down and sucking him in deeper, and the Angel is rocking back against him, fucking himself on Dean's cock even before he's all the way inside. "So greedy…" Dean growls, biting down again, this time underneath Castiel's shoulder blade, leaving a perfect imprint of his teeth behind as the Angel whines and moans a broken 'Yes'.

Demons get off on depraved and wrong. Fucking an Angel is so far off the charts that by the time Dean's balls deep in Castiel, he's ready to explode already, but he has to wait out for Sammy. The Boy King is not gentle – he doesn't need to be. Dean's got his own plaything, and Dean belongs to Sam – Sam can do whatever the fuck he wants, because he's _Sam. _So while Dean worries around prep and chafing and shit like that, Sam…doesn't. The most Dean gets is spit from his own mouth, as Sam shoves two fingers in behind his teeth like he's a stallion refusing the bit, and Dean growls, tossing his head as he shoves forward inadvertently, deeper into Castiel, and bites down on his brother's fingers, but Sam just grins and laughs against his shoulder, the bastard, pushing against the back of Dean's throat hard enough for his brother to gag.

Then, he pulls them back out, leaving the taste of sweat, blood and sulfur behind, and uses what little there is to shove into and around Dean's ass. It's preliminary and does almost nothing to ease the way, but Sam doesn't care and neither does Dean, so they deal. When the Boy King finally begins to push in, Dean's world goes black for the briefest second. Sam is brilliant fire behind him, and Castiel's Grace flares, hearing Dean's quiet moan of pain, but the Angel isn't in much of a position to do anything and so he doesn't. Dean caresses his invisible feathers to distract himself while Sam fucks into him in short, shallow thrusts that get him almost nowhere and just prolong the dry stretch. That's more for Sam's sake than anyone else's, because there's nothing quite like the tightness of a channel clenching in pain. Dean's learned that from experience.

Still, it feels fucking good, because demons get off on wrong and sin, and this is incestuous sodomy. It's fucking glorious. Incestuous sodomy while dirtying the purest creature known to the universe, and Dean's about _this _close to coming and they haven't even started yet. The pain in his ass is a momentary distraction, but really he's just about ready to just fuck Castiel now, and the Angel is making delicious little needy sounds in the back of his throat, fucking himself gently on Dean's cock, desperate for it like an eager little slut.

Dean smirks, digs his nails into Castiel's hips, and begins to move, because really all this is up to him. He slides forward into Castiel with ease, and then rams himself back onto his brother's cock. Back and forth, until Sam catches onto his rhythm, and then there's two sets of hips driving into Castiel, and the Angel is gasping, legs shaking from the force as Dean changes his angle, hits his prostate dead-on, again and again and again. Castiel is moaning and crying out and begging for Dean, and for Sam, and for God, and the third one makes the demons laugh.

Sam comes first, surprisingly, stiffening behind Dean and biting down into his neck with a low growl that Dean can feel in his body and soul. He moans against the sweaty, dirty skin of Castiel's neck as Sam rocks through his orgasm, his come stinging a little where the dry penetration had torn at Dean's hole, made him bloody and wet. Sam pulls out as quick as he pushed in, almost derisive with it as he pushes at Dean, forces him deeper inside his Angel, and gives them both departing kisses on their foreheads before he leaves. He doesn't have time to fuck around for long, after all – he has a whole Hell to run.

Dean turns gentle then, for the second time, thrusting into Castiel slowly, long and methodical with it until the Angel is shaking against him, and begging in a broken voice to be allowed to come, because it's torture to hold back but the punishment is far worse.

"Please, Dean…God…Dean, let me…_please…_" He's beyond words, but he needs them, needs to beg Dean properly otherwise the demon won't let him and he might just die. _"I need…"_

"I know what you need, and when," Dean replies with a low snarl, reaching around once again to start jacking Castiel off, and the young Angel whimpers, practically falling against the cold wall, trying to ground himself. His ass is clenching in a delicious way around Dean's cock, forcing the demon's orgasm from him. It takes Dean by surprise, and he stiffens and stills his movement, filling Castiel up with his seed – he wishes, briefly, that the Angel was female, because that would make an interesting gift to give to Sammy as thanks for letting him keep his Angel. Still, nothing beats a good ass and a pretty face, and his Angel is gorgeous. "Come for me, Cas, right now," he growls, tightening his grip, and the Angel doesn't need to be told twice. He comes with a high keen, muffled against his forearm, which he bites down hard enough to draw blood from, eyes clenching tightly shut, and in the room echoes the rustle of feathers as his wings stretch on some plane that isn't here. "Good Angel," Dean purrs, stroking down Castiel's spine as he pulls out, and the Angel shivers, falling to the ground. His breath is hard and his body is sweaty and red, and he's beautiful when he looks up at Dean, breathing his name like he's the Christ himself, and Dean smiles and kneels down in front of Castiel, pecking at his face and lips gently, chastely kissing him.

"Dean…" Castiel's voice is shy, now, hesitant, and when the demon pulls away to look at his Angel, the other man is blushing, blinking away from him in an innocent flutter of eyelashes.

"What is it, Cas?" Dean asks, brushing hair away from Castiel's face.

The Angel's bright blue eyes flash to his. "You won't really let him come back, will you? I…I don't want…" The Angel's fists clench, because he learned long ago that what _Dean _wants here, he gets, and his desires aren't a factor – but maybe Dean will see it fit to not invite Sam back here. "I don't want to share you," Castiel confesses, and it's the truth as much as it is that he doesn't want to be shared by Dean, either. He just wants the demon, and only him, and Dean blinks in surprise, before smiling at him. It's that Cheshire cat smile again.

"You'll take whatever I'm damn well willing to give you, Angel, and you'll like it," he replies, no change in his voice, but Castiel can sense the cold hostility and danger that's radiating from Dean now, just waiting to be disobeyed. Castiel takes in a deep, shaky breath, and dips his head, eyes on the floor beneath Dean's feet.

"Yes, Master."


	3. I Live To Serve

**Title: **I Live To Serve  
**Author: **HigherMagic  
**Pairings:** Demon!Dean/Demon!Sam, implied Dean/Alistair  
**Rating:** NC-17  
**Word Count:** ~ 3,300  
**Spoilers: **None (This is AU)  
**Summary:** Sometimes, Sam gets jealous. He wouldn't have that much of a problem if Dean would stop sleeping around.  
**Notes/Warnings:** Lots of bloody, gorey, evil boys doing stuff to each other.  
Also; I have NO idea what's going on with me :/ I think I'm just making this whole demon!boys 'verse and I'm not even aware of it. Because of this, I'm making a tag for the 'verse' if you can call it that, but yeah…It's not in a progressive storyline or anything. They're just all similar. Sigh (:

Unbeta'd. All mistakes are my own.

* * *

The Grand Hall door swings open as though it weighs nothing but a feather. In reality, the giant doors are heavily laid in gold and onyx, painted with black fire, but to the Boy King, they are nothing, and he slams them open, anger flashing in his yellow eyes. The demons gathered shy away from him, because Sam Winchester has a fiery temper (pardon the pun) and he'll willingly slaughter anyone who messes with him while he's pissed off.

He storms up to the throne that is empty in his absence on top of a raised platform at one end of the room. His mate sprawls there, like a lazy, contented she-cat basking in the sun, and blinks green-black eyes at Sam's approach. There's a twist to his mouth that says he knows he's in trouble, but otherwise he barely twitches, merely raises his head to look at Sam.

He doesn't say anything, because he's learned to be quiet when Sam's in one of his moods, and goes easily when Sam takes his throat in his hand, tilting his head up. Dean blinks and exhales shakily, his nostrils flaring at the scent of pheromones and sulfur, stinging his nose, and he bares his teeth just a little when Sam leans down, inhaling at his mouth. Dean knows what Sam will smell there, and knows he isn't going to like it.

Dean braces himself just a little, wants to shy away but Sam's hold is strong and he has nowhere to go but the cold gilt of the throne. He feels the eyes of the demon court on him and his cheeks flush because though he's used to Sam's displays and his moods, he's used to a more…private setting, and the implications behind the heat in Sam's eyes now terrify him. He whimpers out a breath, and Sam inhales again like a stallion to a mare, smelling Dean's scent, inhaling deeply.

His eyes flash black when he opens them, snarling against Dean's mouth. "Little slut," he growls, his grip tightening on Dean's chin until it's almost painful and Dean can feel his jaw grind in its socket, knows Sam can dislocate his jaw if he wants to. "Been keeping someone else company, have you?"

Sure, reputation is everything, but if it's a choice between keeping his head and making him look like a submissive little bitch, Dean will choose life every time. "No, Sammy, no I promise," he says, raising his hands so his fingers can hook over Sam's arm, taking a little of the pressure off Sam's hold. "I would never…"

Sam cuts him off with a sharp growl of warning, his eyes sliding into that cool, milky amber. "I can smell him on you, Dean," he argues, tone murderous and Dean has never been more afraid of Sam than now. "Has teacher been getting a little too close? Didn't you want to fight him off, Dean – a little too much of a slut for that? Didn't you think you'd get caught? Of course I would find out, Dean – I _always _do." Sam's smirking, now, and Dean's so fucking terrified that if he had a heartbeat, it would have stopped all over again.

"Sam…" Dean's _this _close to begging, despite all the eyes on them, now. Sam doesn't care – never has, really – but Dean does, and this humiliation burns deep within his soul, coloring his cheeks red and it's the hardest thing he's ever done to hold his brother's gaze – to do otherwise would paint him as a liar. "Never. I swear."

"Then _why _do you _smell like him_?" Sam roars, pushing Dean away with a savage shove of his hand so his mate falls back against the throne, back hitting the edge of the seat so his spine snaps painfully, and the demon brother stifles his cry against his bitten lip, because he won't give Sam the satisfaction. "You _reek _of his cock, Dean. I bet I could bend you over and fuck into the come he left behind."

"Sammy, please," Dean says, scrambling to his feet despite the fact that Sam growls at him to stay down, because he won't be treated like this – he didn't do anything wrong. He throws his arms around his brother, nuzzling into Sam's neck as deeply as he can, unwilling to let Sam push him away. "He got excited, tried to do something, but I didn't let him. Please, ask him if you don't believe me. Please."

Sam growls, fingers tight in Dean's forearms, but his mate is being a limpet and refusing to let go. "Dean, fucking get off." Dean shakes his head, mewls against Sam's neck, unsheathes his teeth against the Boy King's pulse, and smiles a little when Sam stiffens. "Dean!" Sam growls, snaps even, annoyed at the show of fight from his mate, and pushes Dean away, ignoring how Dean's teeth catch on his skin and rip it open. Collectively the demons in the room lean their heads up and inhale, because the Boy King's blood is potent and a heady siren call and they all crave it at one level or another. Dean's eyes widen when he realizes what he's done, his tongue snaking out to lick at the addictive drops on his lips.

"Sam…I…"

Sam growls, baring his teeth, and grabs Dean's forearm. "You shall pay for that," he snarled, eyes flashing yellow again before he's moving, snapping both himself and Dean from the Grand Hall to Sam's private bedroom. No one is allowed in aside from the Boy King and his mate. Magic will incinerate any other creature who tries. Even Dean, who is allowed in and is used to it, shivers at the brush of power humming against his skin, eyes falling closed, full lips parted.

When Dean's eyes open again, Sam is staring at the blood on his fingers, wiped away from his shoulder, and Dean licks his lips again. He's already fallen under the spell of Sam's blood, weak with it at the same time it makes his body sing with power, high on the rush of it, and Dean moans involuntarily, falling to his knees as Sam's eyes flash over his way. Sam smirks, rubbing the blood between his fingers, before he lets his hand fall, holding it out like one does to a foreign dog to smell.

"Come here, Dean," he coaxes, purrs even, and his mate comes willingly, nuzzling into Sam's palm like a loyal bitch begging for attention from her master. "So pretty, Dean…" Sam's fingers twist, catch the side of his mouth, and Dean swallows back the need for another taste just in time – one rash decision can mean the difference between life and death when he's with Sam, and Dean knows that his mate is still angry, despite the different, lustful fire burning in his eyes now. He's not off the hook – not by a long shot. "Lick them. Suck my fingers down like they're my cock – come on – _yes._" Sam's order breaks off in a hiss as Dean opens his mouth willingly, sinking down onto Sam's fingers like he was born for it. Dean's tongue licks and curls around Sam's fingers, getting every taste he can, drinking down the blood like it's the nectar of life. "So fucking good, Dean…"

The Boy King's mate moans; such a slut for it because he really, truly is. He's craved Sam's blood, and his cock, from the very first day in Hell when his brother had greeted him with a bleeding wrist and a Texas-big smile. Dean's eyes meet Sam's from under his lashes, mouth open wide and hands curling forward, desperately grabbing at Sam's thighs, shoving his mouth down on Sam's fingers until he's at risk of gagging, but he doesn't care.

Sam growls, and grins because he loves seeing Dean so wanton and beautiful for him, smears the blood along the corner of Dean's mouth with his thumb and Dean angles his head to keep trying to get at his fingers, trying to get more – he needs more. So, so bad…

_Please, Sam…please, fuck me. Need you to fuck me, _Dean moans into Sam's mind, because his mouth is otherwise occupied and he _needs _Sam's cock like he needs his blood. _Please, want you to fuck me open, hard and fast, make me scream for it._

Sam growls, pulling his fingers out of Dean's mouth harshly, and Dean whimpers and follows Sam's fingers until his mate's hand stops him, forcing his head up where it rests against Sam's lower abdomen. The Boy King's eyes are glowing, brilliant and beautiful and he's smiling, head cocked to one side as he studies Dean appraisingly, because he's still angry, still remembers how much his mate is a greedy little cock slut – will let teacher bend him right over his table and fuck him dry because he's so desperate for it.

Sam kneels down so he's just above eye level with Dean – and his mate is good, dipping his head just in case Sam drops too low – and lifts Dean's chin with his hand, yellow eyes burning into his mate. "If I fuck you, Dean, right here, and strip you down and cover every inch of you, will I see another demon's marks on your skin?"

His voice is cold, and calculating, and so fucking terrifying and full of restrained lust that Dean shivers with it. He shakes his head, or tries to but Sam's hand holds him back, and instead touches Sam – cups his face, in fact, despite the fact that's it's a daring move and way beyond what he's allowed – his thumb running over his baby brother's cheekbone, towards the corner of his eye. "No, Sammy, I promise. I'm yours. Only yours. I didn't let him touch me."

"Would you be willing to put your pride on the line for that? Hmm? Let me fuck you in front of all the court, knowing that if I find one thing out of place, the rest of them will too? They'll know you're a liar, and a slut, and they might try their turn with you. You know what happens when you deceive me, Dean…"

"I know, Sammy, I know. Please, please believe me. I didn't let him do a thing. Nothing." Dean's desperate, now, blinking back the lump in his throat that's forming at the thought of Sam tossing him away, publicly humiliating him, and throwing him down to lower than the souls they torture here. "Here…" He stands, tearing off the thin garments Sam allows him to wear, the only reason for them being that Sam doesn't want anyone else looking at what is _his, _and bares his naked body to his brother. Sam's eyes are appraising, calculating, as he circles Dean, looking over his brother as one might do a bull they are willing to buy; to make sure the animal doesn't have any flaws. When he reaches Dean's shoulder, he buries his nose in his brother's pulse and inhales, and finds nothing to be angry at – there is just Dean, Hell, and Sam on his brother's skin. The same everywhere else, except his mouth. Dean reeks of another demon there, and it stings at Sam's nose, knowing his mate has betrayed him like this.

"Why do you continue to try and lie to me, Dean?" Sam asks, curiosity in his voice but Dean can hear the underlying violence, just waiting to be unleashed. The older Winchester brother shivers, eyes down as Sam completes his second circuit, yellow eyes flashing. "I can smell his essence in your mouth."

"He…tried to…kiss me," Dean murmurs, like the very words are causing him physical pain to utter. "He tried, but I pushed him away before he could get further than that. Please, Sammy, don't cast me away. Let me make up for his treason."

"You call it treason." And Sam can't help it – he laughs. "Well, I suppose that's true. Get on our bed, Dean – it's time you were fucked and owned like the whore you truly are. Come on, don't keep me waiting."

Dean practically runs to the bed. It is big and luxurious – Sam made it so that he could practically tear Dean apart on one half of it, and there would still be a comfortable amount of space to sleep on the other side. Dean lies in the middle, forearms bracing his upper body, on his knees which are spread wide, just how Sam likes him, and he waits, because Sam can sometimes leave him there for hours and it's torturous, but anything to make Sam happy. Anything to keep his place by Sam's side.

Sam, contrary to his usual habit, doesn't keep Dean waiting long. The Boy King's heat is suddenly right behind Dean, the younger brother sliding right in because, despite Sam's claims that Dean has been fucking another demon, the truth is that Sam had had Dean bent over for him not even an hour ago, and Dean is still wet enough that further lubricant and preparation is just pandering to the stupid slut's needs.

Dean moans against his forearm when Sam bottoms out, feeling all that delicious, glorious cock embedded in him, and he squeezes for Sam, rocking back against the younger demon's body, loving that little extra push that he can only get if he participates as well. Sam's mate is shaking, quivering under Sam's touch as the demon splays his large, warm hands over Dean's back, curling around Dean's ribcage and pressing at the fine muscle between his bones, so pain mixes in with that heady thread of pleasure. He moans, begs for Sam to move, but Sam has all the time in the world, now, and Dean's heat is so delicious, so warm and tight for him all the time, like that very first time when he'd fucked Dean right in front of Alistair and Azazel, and Sam purrs as Dean clenches again, trying to coax him into moving by making himself tighter.

The Boy King rocks, just a little, enough that there's a slow drag-pull over Dean's prostate, and there's another moan shared between them. Dean wishes he could kiss his brother now, but the position doesn't allow for it, and that sort of thing is for when he's being treated like a mate, not like a slut. He knows how he's acting, knows how much Sammy loves this wanton side of him, and doesn't mind it, not one bit. Dean growls a little in frustration, pulls off Sam's cock a little, then slams back down, eager to get this show on the road. Sam groans, and is finally spurred into action.

He feels the thrusts in his throat. Sam hits his prostate every fifth stroke, and it's too dry to get any real pleasure without that added help, but Dean doesn't care. Sam's _touching _him, and talking to him, and saying all sorts of derogatory, hurtful things, and Dean fucking _loves _it, craves it, because he knows what waits for him at the end of this, and he looks to it like a finish line. So he tries everything to get Sam to come – everything that his limited range of movement will allow, anyway – and it isn't long before Sam stills, his hands digging into Dean's soft stomach as he comes, mounted as he is over his brother like an animal, filling Dean up with his warm seed, and then forces Dean to carry both their weight as he catches his breath.

Dean doesn't mind – he's used to it, and he loves the feeling of Sam filling him up, marking him so that all the demons will be able to smell him, and know that Dean is only Sam's, and the other way around. It's surprising but it's true – the Boy King only has one true mate, and it's his brother.

Even for demons, it's a bit unorthodox.

Sam purrs when he pulls out, smiling against Dean's shoulder as he places an affectionate nip at the pulse, purrs again when Dean bares his throat, eyes closed for Sam, and then willingly goes when Sam manhandles him onto his back, a knife in his hand and Dean's eyes widen just a little before Sam smiles, and presses the knife against his own neck, slicing through skin easily and baring his throat for Dean. The Boy King's mate moans loudly, surging up against Sam and pulling him down, and seals his lips around his mate's neck, drinking greedily at the heavy flow sliding into his mouth and down his throat, sticky and sweet and so fucking good, that _this _is what he gets off for, as he moans and arches up, finding Sam's thigh that's fallen between his legs and grinding against it slowly, teasing himself as he drinks, and the Boy King is grinning, stroking Dean's hair back and tilting his head more, encouraging, because this is just as good for him, too, and it keeps Dean coming back again and again for more.

Dean drinks, keeps drinking until Sam feels a little weak, and they're both sweating from blood and Hellfire, and Dean stills, comes against Sam's flank and thigh with a low, wet groan, stroking a hand through Sam's hair as he sighs, blood around his chin and Sam's neck that the Boy King eagerly licks away, growling against Dean's skin.

"What do you say, Dean?" Sam asks, wrapping a hand around Dean's spent cock agonizingly tightly and jerking him, once, enough that it elicits a hiss from his mate, and Dean whimpers against Sam's shoulder. "Come, come, Dean…Be a good boy and tell me…"

Dean chokes on his breath, hissing again when Sam's thumb slides over the slit, his cock jerking feebly in Sam's hand, and the overstimulation is so torturous… "Thank you, Sam. Thank you for putting me in my place, and fucking me like I deserve," he murmurs, blinking his bright black-green eyes up at Sam, smiling just a little at Sam's bright-eyed gaze. "You're very good to me."

"I know," Sam purrs, smug and self-satisfied, as he always is after a good fucking, and rears up against Dean, bracing himself on a locked arm and staring down at Dean with a mix of ever-present lust, satisfaction, and wonder that Dean was ever brave and stupid enough to make a deal and join Sam down here. "You're a good boy, Dean. You know why I can't have you misbehaving."

Dean smiles at Sam. "I know."

"You know I love you, Dean."

"I love you too, Sammy."

"Good," Sam replies, smiling again, and licks once more at Dean's blood-stained mouth. "Just making sure."


	4. Firstborn

**Title: **Firstborn  
**Author: **HigherMagic  
**Pairings:** Demon!Dean/Demon!Sam, Dean/Castiel, Dean/Alistair  
**Rating:** NC-17  
**Word Count:** ~ 3,300  
**Spoilers: **None (This is AU)  
**Summary:** Sometimes, Sam gets jealous. He wouldn't have that much of a problem if Dean would stop sleeping around.  
**Notes/Warnings:** Lots of bloody, gorey, evil boys doing stuff to each other, and graphic MPreg birthing imagery.  
OMG. This 'verse is growing a plot without my knowledge or consent! *headdesk* I'm actually brainstorming and dreaming about it – something I only do with plot stories. Sigh.

(The Dean/Alistair bit is before the scene in 'I Live To Serve'. The rest happens after.)

Welcome to the 'Demon Boys' 'verse! Which brings you the likes of Inner Beauty, I Live To Serve and Playtime. Enjoy this suddenly plot-filled porn! Wahey! =D

Unbeta'd. All mistakes are my own.

* * *

The boy is beautiful; he doesn't deserve to be here, in fact. He only masturbated once to the thought of his next door neighbor and hadn't gotten the sin absolved before he was hit by a car. Two days and a cardiac arrest later, and he's down here, in Dean's play area.

"Teacher?" Dean asks, voice light and childish as he leaned over the body on the rack, knife against the boy's exposed, pale throat. The demon's eyes blink black for a moment before he feels his teacher's hands on his waist, Alistair's body plastering itself to his back as the other demon joins him in watching the boy, before Dean turns his head and smiles at his master. "I'd like to learn something new today."

The boy is quivering, his bright blue-green eyes wide and innocent, shining up at Dean from a fifteen-year-old body, and it's so delicious; Dean can smell his innocence on him like perfume, and the demon can't resist leaning down to the boy's neck, smelling the purity leaking off his skin. His knife slips down a little, entirely by accident, and rests over his hammering heart.

Alistair smiles behind Dean, stroking a hand through his student's short, soft hair, around the back of his neck and down until he feels Dean shiver. "And what would that be?"

The younger demon smiles, and blinks, and loves the tiny amount of hope he can see flare in the boy's eyes before his smile turns cruel and sadistic, and his eyes slide into their black filter. "I want you to show me how to keep someone completely conscious while stripping their spine." Hope flutters and dies like a crushed insect, and fear permeates the room in a thick, heady haze that has Dean's breath picking up, his hand shaking just a little in excitement and visceral pleasure. He turns again, looks back at his teacher. "Can you show me that? I want to watch, and learn." His voice is a purr, eyes half-lidded and Alistair grins at Dean, his teeth bloodied and lips chapped and spread too thinly, but he nods and stops his exploration of his student's body, producing his own knife from somewhere in his clothing.

Alistair's knife is not as large as Dean's, but it is sharp – Dean does this for pleasure, but the comparison is like an art student to Picasso. He still has a lot to learn. Alistair's blade is thin enough to slice off a single layer of skin cells and, if manipulated just right, he can separate a nucleus from the very atom. He is a master and the best of his craft; only the best for Dean.

A flick of his wrist, and the boy is flipped over, so his back is exposed to the air, and he whimpers when new skin is brought into contact with the burning iron of the rack, spiked and slick and burning with acid. His hands are chained above his head, his legs spread apart and pinned down for…let's just call it easy access.

Oh yes, Dean's going to enjoy this.

He watches his teacher survey the boy's naked, pale body as one might examine a rare species of creature or plant that they had never seen before – that is what is admirable about Alistair; every new piece of work is just that – new. He doesn't tire, doesn't grow bored. In the many years Dean was on the rack, not once did Alistair show anything other than pleasure in what he was doing, and each day brought new and horrifying ways for him to torture Dean. Now, thinking back, all the demon can remember is how good it felt, how much he owes this demon now for teaching him, even when Dean didn't know it. Alistair is a good teacher and Dean owes him much.

Alistair climbs onto the rack, kneels between the boy's spread legs. His robe-like garment falls to one side, exposing part of his thigh and his knee as he leans down, hand above the boy's shoulder for balance, and the tip of his knife dances up and down the boy's spine. Not cutting – not yet – but damn near close.

"Tell me your name," he demands of the boy, curling his non-knife-wielding hand in the short, fine hairs at the back of the boy's neck. The soul shudders, and cries out when Alistair rewards his silence with a slight dip – just enough to be painful, but not to cause any physical damage – into and between two of the vertebrae. Dean begins to salivate as the scent of blood fills the room, and he creeps closer.

The boy's already starting to cry, his hands clenching into fists and really – it's only a tiny cut. Things are going to get much, much worse. But as Dean observed before – souls that are meant for Hell are generally good at being there. This boy didn't really deserve it – not yet.

But he doesn't answer – and really, that's a stupid move. His pride won't save him here. Alistair twists the tip of his knife just barely, so the vertebrae stretch and separate a little, and the boy cries out once more. "Tell me. Your name," the demon growls, pulling at the boy's head, and with the way his knife is still in the boy's spine, it makes the bones grind together and come apart at the sharp, serrated edge, and the first scream is heard. It's music to the demons' ears.

"A…Adam," the boy sobs, and Dean smiles, leaning forward where he is at the boy's head, catching his eye. "Adam Milligan." And Alistair laughs.

"Why, Dean, he does speak!" his teacher mutters to himself, withdrawing his blade that is covered in marrow now, from the shattered bones, and Adam whimpers, trying to bury his face in the burning wood of the rack, but he can't because Dean's suddenly holding his face, looking him in the eye – blue-green meeting black, and there's something familiar about the soul. Something that he came to recognize in Sam's, and in his own. But that is inconsequential, and he drops the boy's chin with a huff, standing again so he can properly watch Alistair work.

By the time Alistair actually gets around to spilling blood, the boy's passed out twice. He has a weak stomach, the demon claims, but Dean doesn't mind – he is still learning, with a single-minded intensity that he rarely dedicates to anything else. By keeping Adam's nerves intact, Alistair has managed to almost perfectly sever each and every bone in Adam's spine from each other and crush it to pulp with the handle of his knife. The boy's ribcage has collapsed without that central support, and breathing is getting difficult for him. His heart is going a mile a minute, and he's screamed himself hoarse – which is good, because his voice was kind of grating on Dean's nerves.

Alistair runs his fingers down the fine strands of nerve running down Adam's spine, smiling when the boy shivers, and blood spills out of him, over his ass and thighs and onto the floor below the rack. It's a beautiful sight, a piece of art the rival of Michelangelo, and Dean can't help himself – he leans down and licks at the blood coating Adam's thigh, his eyes falling shut at the _purity. _He's beautiful, this boy, when he's all shivering and frightened and in pain, and he'll make a gorgeous demon one day – for now, though, he is theirs to play with.

Alistair watches Dean, slides a bloody hand through the hair on the back of his student's head, and raises it. Dean blinks over at him, curious at the hunger in Alistair's eyes that he knows so well, as his teacher's normally hazel-brown slide to milky white, and he doesn't move when Alistair leans down, slanting his lips over Dean's in a move that would be awkward if both of them weren't so limber, and Dean sighs, a little, because his teacher smells like blood and sulfur and lust, and Dean's so turned on already by what they've been doing, that he loses himself just a little, and forgets who he is.

Or, more importantly, who his mate is.

It takes the feeling of Alistair's tongue sliding into his mouth to snap him back to reality. He struggles against his teacher's hold, fights him off and shies away so Alistair can no longer touch him, bile and betrayal stinging his throat, and he growls at Alistair.

"You'll pay for that."

Alistair laughs, and then goes back to the boy, who's healed and ready for the second round. "Don't be like that, baby – come over here and let me teach you some more."

* * *

"You're doing so well," Dean purrs into his Angel's ear as he holds him from behind. The demon's back is against the wall, his hands curled around Castiel's biceps to keep him back, chest stretched and open, and his head has fallen back against Dean's shoulder and neck. The Angel's breathing heavily, shaking and sweaty, and the demon smiles because, of all the things he thought he'd be doing, this wasn't one of them. He raises a hand up, cards it through Castiel's sweaty hair and places a light kiss on the Angel's racing pulse. "Come on, Angel, let's get you more comfortable, shall we?"

Castiel practically collapses in relief, because the pain in his abdomen has been getting worse and worse, the contractions coming closer together – it won't be long now. Dean moves away from behind him, lets his back touch the cold stone and the shackles clink when the Angel moves. Dean looks around, reaching for more, longer chains that he cinches up to different heights, and then threads Castiel's ankles through them so that the Angel ends up on his back, legs in the air and spread, head still bent awkwardly against the wall so he can see everything Dean does.

He'd tried to hide it from the demon as long as possible, but when he kept gaining weight despite the fact that Dean barely fed him, it wasn't hard to put two and two together. Dean, of course, still on bad terms with his mate and willing to do anything to get back into Sam's good graces, had immediately thought of the advantage.

"This will make a good gift for Sammy," Dean says, caressing the swollen bump of Castiel's stomach as if it were something precious, and the smile on his face is almost soft and gentle, and Castiel feels himself relax despite the situation, despite the fact that he'll be willingly handing over the most powerful creature ever spawned to the King of Hell. Castiel moans in pain when Dean's finger runs around his stretched hole, muscles spasming in pain as he tries to push, his body trembling from being held and restrained as he is. He tries to speak – tries to tell Dean to let him loose, and that he won't run, and that he'll be good for Dean if Dean would just let him lay down and rest, but he can't find the words, can't speak because his throat is closed up from the awkward angle his head is at, almost crushing his windpipe, and there isn't enough air in the room. "Come on, Angel, you need to push for me."

He's trying. Good God, is he trying – he wants this to be over, as soon as physically possible, and when the next contraction comes he pushes so damn hard, but the thing's refusing to come out. He gasps, his body sagging against the cold floor, and managed to choke out; "I can't…I can't…"

Dean growls, eyes flashing black, and Castiel feels a warm hand suddenly, pushing down on his stomach as though the demon can force the baby out. It hurts even more, now, the pressure and trying to force something so big out so fast, and Castiel screams, tears falling from his eyes and into his hairline as he tries to help, tries to push the Goddamn thing out and be done with it, and finally – _finally, _after what feels like hours – there's a sense of emptiness, and crying.

It's a baby's wail, and it echoes around the room, and Castiel somehow finds the strength to lift his head, and open his eyes to look on his child. He wants to sit up, and the position makes it almost impossible, but his vessel's shape is flexible and he manages to awkwardly prop himself up against the wall, almost bent in half. The rattling of his chains draws Dean's attention away from the wet, screaming, bloody thing, his eyes flat black and an almost wondering expression on his face, before he holds it out to Castiel.

The Angel takes his child – his son, he sees – and holds him close, brushing away blood and fluid from the child's forehead. Dean stands and lets his legs down and Castiel hisses at the cramps as Dean kneels beside him, framing his side and his shoulder as they both stare at the wriggling, wailing little thing. It's a parody at best of the classic firstborn scene in a loving family – and a downright mockery at the worst. Dean is smiling, purring against Castiel's neck where he licks away sweat and dirt, and tells him how good he is and how well he's done, and how happy this will make Dean and Sam, and Castiel's happy about that, because he wants to serve Dean in any way he can. He would do anything for Dean.

Castiel's never been around children before, but he knows what to do – an instinct all Angels have, as he wets his palm with his tongue and begins cleaning his son, licking off whatever gathers on his palm when he's just smearing it around. It tastes weirdly salty, like come, but is full of nutrients that he knows his body needs, and even now he can feel his strength returning as he cleans his son until all there is to see is pink-and-peach baby skin, a wriggling mass of blindly grabbing fingers and gurgles.

The baby blinks open eyes the color of grass, and there's a ring of black around the pupil, and now that it's no longer red, Castiel can see he will grow to have black hair – or perhaps a very dark brown. The baby is chubby-cheeked and Buddha-bellied like most babies are, and when Castiel's fingers trace down his spine, he can feel the three sets of straight lines down his back where his wings will grow, when he's old enough.

"You will have to bring him back when his wings begin to grow," he says solemnly, turning his head to look at Dean. The demon is surprisingly close, his lips by Castiel's when the Angel turns, and without thought one of them (they're not sure which) brushes forward, planting a chaste kiss with their eyes open. "They will need to be taken care of properly."

Dean nodded, for once compliant of his plaything's requests – he wouldn't want to damage the merchandise, after all. "You think I'll just take him away?" he asks, partially surprised, partially digging for another wound to give.

Castiel nods his head, disappointing him. "He is for Sam – for your mate." The Angel's voice is sad at that, but if Dean notices, he doesn't comment. "You'll want to show him to the King as soon as possible, I'd imagine. And I don't know how to take care of a child…" _Like this. _The end went unsaid but they both heard it, and Dean nodded, taking his Angel's chin in hand and kissing him breathless, his fingertips leaving bruises to remind Castiel that they are not a couple – they are master and servant, just as they should be. Castiel is, if nothing else, a degraded concubine – a mistress for heirs. Nothing more.

Dean stands, and takes the child without a word. The baby is quiet in his arms and stops struggling, burying into the demon's chest. Dean stops, staring at it for a moment, and then continues on like nothing happened, but that can't stop the little seed of hope that blossoms in Castiel, watching the man he's devoted to walking away with his son.

* * *

When Dean finds Sam, he's in his quarters, and Dean has to hesitate outside, because nothing can enter aside from Sam and Dean themselves – the baby would be destroyed on entry. So, he has to call Sam out, and he knows his irritable baby brother won't like it.

"Sammy?"

"What, Dean?"

"Are you busy?"

There's a sigh, and a huff; "No, I suppose not. Come on in."

"I…can't, Sam."

"Can't? What have you done this time?" An edge of violence now – Dean's quick to put it at ease, and the baby struggles a little in his hold like a cat, hearing his hitched breath. The child is already powerful, sensitive to the change in his father's emotions.

"I have a gift for you," Dean says, and it's then that Sam opens his door, sees Dean with his son, standing there. The Boy King's eyes narrow, and Dean holds the baby up like a sacrifice. "Half Demon, Half Angel, Sammy, and the best of both. Just think of how powerful he could be…" Even as he says it, he feels himself start to tremble with excitement, his eyes sliding into black at the thought of such a powerful creature. "I can train him, and make him strong, and then he can be yours, Sammy – yours to do with as you will." Sam's expression hasn't changed, and now Dean is worried he'll be angry – it shows in the tense set of his shoulders and the way his smile falls from his face. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong, Dean, I'm just…surprised, is all," Sam mutters, mostly to himself, and steps out of his rooms so he can hold the baby – Dean gives him over willingly, smiling when Sam begins to examine the child with an appraising look. "Who's is he? Yours?"

Dean nods, smiling because although Sam has an insane jealousy problem when it comes to other demons and Dean, he will willingly let Dean fuck his playmates, because let's face it – they're humans. They are not as powerful and definitely not a threat to Sam. His brother's subservience is everything. "Mine, and the Angel's. Castiel's. Just think, Sammy – an army of half-breeds at your command." Dean slides closer, arms going around Sam, resting his head against his brother's shoulder and smiling up at him; "We could get more Angels, fuck them all and make them ours – break them and fuck them and make them give us an army – give you an army. Just think of it…Hell would be unstoppable."

Both the brothers shiver at such a vision and Sam grins down at Dean, his eyes amber yellow and glowing with inner light. "I think this is the best idea you've ever had, big brother." He takes Dean's chin in his hand, brings the other demon up for a long, dirty kiss, tongue fucking Dean's mouth until he moans and tries to get closer, obstructed by his son. "And I already have something you can use."

Dean's eyes widen in excitement, and he grins.

The next day, Sam leads him to a room that was glowing like Castiel's. This room is large and filled with a brilliant orange glow that pulses and flares with every movement the demons make. Sam gestures to it, a smile of triumph and fierce delight on his face.

"Dean, this is Gabriel. Make friends, and keep me updated."

Sam leaves, and Dean smiles his Cheshire cat smile when the door closes. He draws his knife, and advances on the Angel.

It feels good to be back in Sammy's good graces.


	5. Coercion

**Title: **Coercion  
**Author: **HigherMagic  
**Pairings:** Demon!Dean/Demon!Sam, Dean/Castiel/Gabriel, little bits of Gabriel/Castiel and Dean/Castiel  
**Rating:** NC-17  
**Word Count:** ~ 3,400  
**Spoilers: **None (This is AU)  
**Summary:** Dean can be very inventive in getting Gabriel to cooperate.  
**Notes/Warnings:** Lots of bloody, gorey, evil boys doing stuff to each other.

Unbeta'd. All mistakes are my own.

* * *

The first thing Dean does is collar Gabriel. The bastard's too powerful otherwise – he's an Archangel, a bad mofo if Dean's ever met one, and he doesn't want to get smote (even if he's a little unsure where exactly that would land him). The Archangel doesn't see him coming, because the protective glow he gives off also blinds him as well, and he doesn't feel the demon until there's a collar of dull iron and silver encircling his neck, glowing with an inscribed incantation in some bastardized version of Latin and Enochian.

As soon as the collar slips on, the glow fades until Gabriel is a relatively human shape again. He's shorter than Dean by almost half of a foot, with a head of soft, dirty blonde hair that's ruffled and unkempt from being kept in this dungeon for God knows how long. There's stubble around his jaw and thin lips, his eyes narrowed in suspicion and fear as he looks at the demon, facing him with his back to the wall, the two wings that the collar can't quite keep in flaring in defense. The only reason Castiel's wings don't show is because Dean uses them as extra means of giving pain when he's particularly wrathful. Gabriel hasn't learned that lesson yet.

He will soon enough.

The demon smiles, knife sliding easily into his hand as he stares the Archangel down, fully prepared for Gabriel to not back off. He's not disappointed – it's been a while since he had a playmate with any fight left in him. This'll be fun.

Dean feels his pulse start to life and quicken, saliva flooding his mouth and his grip tightening on the handle, fully ready to start shedding blood and immerse himself in this creature's screams, and has to remind himself that his object is not to kill, or to physically, permanently maim Gabriel – the Archangel needs to become a perfect little bitch for Sammy, and Dean's the one to do that.

He slides forward, all smooth cat-like power and thinly-veiled danger. "Hello, pretty Angel," he purrs, his knife resting against Gabriel's throat. The Archangel hisses and retreats from him, but can't because the stupid thing backed himself against the wall, and Dean just follows him so his knife presses more insistently against him, eyes sliding into black as he leans closer, smiling against the Archangel's cheek as he turns his face away. "Aww, pretty, come on, don't be like that…" the demon purrs, his lips and tongue brushing against the corner of Gabriel's mouth as he speaks, and then suddenly his blade turns _just _a little, sinking into the Archangel's flesh agonizingly slowly.

Gabriel growls, wings flaring out and he _pushes _at Dean, sending the demon flying backwards. The Archangel is there before Dean fully lands, collar glowing and eyes wild with fury as he wraps one hand around Dean's neck, the other grabbing for his knife. Dean just laughed and flips them over, because this is _his _town, and he's much stronger here than Gabriel is. The Archangel _snarls _at him, teeth bared and righteous fury burning in his eyes as he fights, and struggles, and claws against the demon, who just laughs like the whole fucking thing's funny and then, with a snap of his fingers, summons manacles that wrap around Gabriel's wrists like they are living snakes, pinning the Archangel's hands above his head and then planting themselves firmly into the ground, so Gabriel can't move unless he rolls over his own hands, and that's not going to happen with Dean's body pinning him down, denying him leverage.

"Shh, shh," Dean croons into Gabriel's ear, sliding the tip of his knife under the Archangel's ribcage until Gabriel cries out and growls in pain, feeling the burning metal slice through his skin, and muscle and organs that he doesn't technically need, so all he's feeling is pain. Dean's hand catches the blood as it falls, and he sucks his fingers into his mouth, leaving his knife still embedded in Gabriel's heaving, sweat-soaked side, and licks and sucks at the orange-lime tang of the Archangel's blood. It's different than Castiel's – more like candy than liquor, and it burns at his mouth, pieces of the Archangel's Grace flowing through him, trying to burn the evil right out of him.

It won't work.

Dean opens eyes that have returned to green, staring down into an expression full of revulsion and hatred, of pure murder, and it's a pleasant sight to see all that darkness swirling in the Archangel's Grace, ready to just be given a little nudge in the right direction.

Dean stands, leaving his knife in Gabriel's side and the Archangel chained to the floor, knowing that with the wound he probably won't try moving much, and goes to get Castiel.

* * *

When Dean leads Castiel into Gabriel's room, the Angels' eyes widen as they obviously recognize each other, Castiel's mouth falling open and his wings – which Dean had conjured into this plane so that he could play with them – give a little startled twitch. He takes in a breath, about to speak, but Dean cuts him off, slanting his mouth over Castiel's and pulling the Angel to him. His Angel is good, a good boy, and melts against the demon, purring into his mouth as Dean eagerly takes control, branding Castiel's body with his hands, two of his fingers sliding into Castiel's ass where it's still wet and swollen and fucked open from the session they'd had after Castiel gave birth.

The Angel whimpers, his arms wrapping around Dean's shoulders, wings curling around them both reflexively, the violet-star light flaring deep in his vessel's shape for a moment as Dean gently fucks him with his fingers, breaking the kiss so that he can look over at Gabriel and make sure he's watching.

He is, and he's horrified. A violent mix of anger, betrayal and disgust are all clear on his face, and his hands are clenched where they are chained down – he hadn't moved from his position from before – his wings ruffled amid the pool of drying blood leaking from his side. Dean cocks his head, contemplative for a moment, before he pulls away from Castiel abruptly, letting the Angel fall to his knees from overbalancing, and strides over to the prone Archangel. Gabriel tenses, growling a warning at him, but all Dean came for was his blade, which he yanks out with no ceremony, the edge catching at Gabriel's flesh on the way out and bringing more blood. Dean grins his predatory grin, and dips his hand in the Archangel's blood, soaking it thoroughly before he rubs his fist along his own cock, slicking himself up.

"Castiel," he calls, not breaking Gabriel's gaze; "come here."

Within a second his Angel is kneeling beside him; Dean can feel his body heat beside and behind him. He can see it in Gabriel's eyes – the Archangel wants to believe that his brother hasn't fallen, and that this is just some elaborate plan to bring down the King of Hell. Dean knows better – Castiel belongs to him in body, mind and soul. The demon made sure of that.

Dean turns his head, meets his pet in a chaste nip and clash of teeth. "Get between his legs, Angel," he purrs, stroking one hand through Castiel's hair before shoving him on his way. Castiel goes; kneeling between Gabriel's spread thighs. The Archangel looks confused and worried, eyes filled with new anxiety now, and Dean smiles. "Use that talented mouth, sweetheart. Make your brother come."

Then Gabriel is arching with a hiss, his cock surrounded in tight, wet heat. Dean knows what his Angel's mouth can do – has been on the receiving end of it many times – and knows that, everlasting willpower and patience or not, he will break this new playmate. It might take a while, but he'll break Gabriel, make him need Sam like Castiel needs Dean.

Castiel's moaning around his brother's shaft like the cockslut Dean made him into, and the demon smiles before standing, situating himself behind his Angel and thrusting in with no preamble. Castiel's channel clenches deliciously and he moans, his wings shuddering as Dean's hands card through his sensitive, downier feathers on the inside.

"You see, pretty?" Dean asks, eyes falling closed for a moment while he fucks into Castiel, reveling in the way the Angel eagerly meets him, moaning like a two dollar whore. "This is what happens when Angels behave. Good Angels get to feel good things. Bad Angels…" His hands turn savage for a brief moment, knotting and tugging at Castiel's feathers so a few come away in his hand. His Angel cries out around Gabriel's now-hard cock, tears stinging at the corner of his eyes, and Gabriel can see it all. "Well, you see."

"You bastard," Gabriel growls despite the arousal coloring his voice, body flushed and shaking from the effort he's putting into not being affected, and failing at. "I'm going to rip you apart, limb from limb, atom from atom until you are nothing more than a stain on history."

Dean 'hmm's quietly, slowing his rhythm in Castiel as his hands begin to explore the Angel's wings, touching all the intimate, sensitive places like at the base of his spine, and around where his wings sprout from his vessel on the underside, and right at the top ridge where the wingtips are. Castiel's panting and moaning and shaking and it feels so fucking delicious that Dean doesn't ever want to stop. But…he has a job to do.

"You should learn by example, pretty," Dean replies, pulling out of Castiel and moving, jerking himself as he goes, and he's over one of Gabriel's wings by the time he comes, staining the golden-brown feathers with his milky come, and smirking as the revulsion on Gabriel's face grows. "I can make this easy, or very, _very _difficult." He leans down, licking at his own come from Gabriel's feathers, where he spilled deliberately over the sensitive parts of an Angel's wing, and the Archangel is shuddering, jaw clenched hard enough to break as he stills, and comes into his brother's mouth. Castiel keeps it all in his mouth, licks Gabriel clean and milks him through it before raising his head and following Dean's gesture, so he's straddling Gabriel's chest now. "Kiss him," Dean commands in a husky voice, eyes sliding to black as he watches Castiel lean down, his hand framing his brother's face perfectly so that, with a simple, light press of his thumb against Gabriel's jaw and the hollow of his cheek, he forces his brother's mouth open, kissing him thoroughly, and Dean knows the Archangel can taste his own seed in his brother's mouth. It's so decadent and fucking _wrong _that he feels himself getting excited all over again.

His hand cards through Castiel's hair as the Angel kisses Gabriel, mimicking Dean's usual style and tongue-fucking his big brother with a single-minded intensity that is really doing nothing to calm Dean's libido.

The Archangel's hands are clenched where they're chained down, and when Castiel finally pulls away for air Gabriel turns his head towards Dean and spits at him, eyes flashing with hate and disgust. Dean feels the Archangel's murderous intent like the warm sun on his face. The demon smiles and stands, wiping off Gabriel's spit where it landed on his leg absently, and then grabs his knife, spinning it in his hand as he regards Gabriel in contemplation.

"I think we're going to play a game," he says, knotting his hand in Castiel's hair and pulling the Angel away so he's standing next to Dean. The demon pushes at Castiel's shoulder with the handle of his blade until Castiel kneels, facing Gabriel, his wings framing his legs as they fall. "I think you'll enjoy this game, pretty. I know I will." He's grinning, and Gabriel growls at him. Dean's reaction is immediate – he grabs onto one of Castiel's wings and shoves his blade straight through it. The Angel cries out in shock and pain, instinctively shying away but Dean's hold is strong, and he _twists _the blade until Castiel stops struggling, keeps kneeling, shaking. The demon's eyes slide to black as he watches for Gabriel's reaction.

He's horrified, again, struggling against his chains, wings thrashing as he tries to fight them, but can't, because Dean's not going to let him. Dean withdraws his blade as he stands straight again, petting through Castiel's hair, and he licks at the Angel blood gathered on the knife, moaning at the taste.

When's he's done, and the blade is spotless again, he looks back to Gabriel. "I think we're going to enjoy this game very much," he says, driving the point home and smiles again.

"What are the rules?" Gabriel asks, shaken by what he's just seen, unable to tear his eyes away from the hole in the middle of his brother's wing – Dean can do whatever he wants to him, but Castiel shouldn't have to suffer.

"I think you'll manage to figure them out, eventually," Dean says. "I've heard Angels are meant to be smart." He's still petting Castiel, nails just barely scraping the Seraph's scalp, and despite the fact that he's just been stabbed Castiel leans into the touch like a faithful dog.

Gabriel snarls at Dean, fights against the chains again, and the collar glows. "Fuck you, demon!"

Dean chuckles low in his throat again, and there's another second of silence before Castiel screams again, this time driven to his hands and knees as Dean gives him a mirror wound on his other wing, twisting his blade to inflict more damage, and Gabriel's pretty sure he severed an artery in the wing, because it shouldn't be bleeding that much. He thrashes against his bindings, desperate to help his tortured brother.

"Stop! Please, stop it!" he cries, hating Castiel for a second for just taking it, taking this abuse like he has no other choice – like he's _grateful _for it. He's not even crying – he's in too much pain for that – but his wings and vessel-shape trembles in the demon's hold as Dean drags his fingers over the knife-wounds, pulling the edges apart so he's tearing them even more open, now. "For God's sake, stop!"

Dean smiles his Cheshire cat smile, and lets Castiel drop when he stops holding him up. "Do you understand the rules now, pretty Angel?" he coos, thumbing at his bloody knife and licking off what gathers on his skin. "Every time you disobey me, I hurt him." He points to Castiel with his bloody knife, cocking his head to one side, and Gabriel nods. Dean grins again, child-like and so fucking _wrong. _"Good. I think we're going to have a lot of fun together, you know."

Gabriel narrows his eyes, bites back the retort just in time – he doesn't want Castiel suffering because of him. He nods again.

"I knew you'd see it my way," Dean says, blinking his eyes back to green. He goes over to his trembling pet, places a hand over the wing wounds and there's a slow, green glow before the wounds are gone. He really does like his Angel's pretty wings and doesn't want any scar to mar them – they're too pretty for that. He cards his bloody fingers through Castiel's hair, smiles when the Seraph blinks his bright blue eyes up at him, still so full of devotion and gratitude for taking the pain away, and Gabriel has to swallow back another remark, another snap, because it makes his very Grace burn with fury that one of his brothers has fallen so far.

Still, Castiel must have gone through the same kind of torture to get here. He's suffered enough and Gabriel doesn't want to add to that.

Dean hooks the base of his blade under Castiel's chin and forces his Angel up, kissing him breathless for a moment before he lets Castiel fall, and stands. "I'll be back later. Angel – keep our guest company," he says with a smile, looking at Gabriel with calculating eyes for a moment, before he exits the room, leaving Archangel and Seraph alone.

* * *

Gabriel had hoped that Castiel would at least remember. Would know that he used to be something different, and something else, but he's disappointed. Castiel doesn't remember Heaven's light, doesn't recognize the sensation when Gabriel reaches out with his Grace, shies away from it even. The light of Gabriel's Grace isn't nearly as welcoming to him as Dean's dark soul – to Castiel, Dean is his mate and that means unconditional devotion to the demon.

"How did it happen?" Gabriel asks, finally negotiating the way he's bound so that he can sit, manacled hands in his lap and wings wrapped tightly around himself as he looks over at his young brother. Castiel smiles, cocking his head to one side, innocent.

It's so out of place Gabriel just wants to shake him. "I don't know. I just…" Castiel frowns, because to him it's been years he's been in Hell, been Dean's plaything and lover. "I used to hurt. I used to be in so much pain all the time and Dean came and made it all go away. He hurts, but then he also takes it away."

"He _makes _you hurt, Castiel. He's a demon – he's evil."

Castiel shakes his head frantically. "No. Dean is a good man – he is the best I've ever known. He is kind and gentle and devoted, and his soul shines the brightest I've ever seen."

Gabriel swallows, overwhelmed with sorrow for his brother's sake. He wonders if Castiel has actually gone mad from being in Hell for so long. "I don't see what you see," he confesses, because he really can't understand how a demon who just _stabbed Castiel _– twice – can be the brightest soul Castiel's ever seen, and the best man he's ever known.

"You will," Castiel says confidently, smiling. "When Dean gives you to Sam – the King. I've only met him once, but Dean loves him, so he must be a good man too. You will see that they are beautiful and you will feel as I feel."

Gabriel doubts it, but he keeps his opinions to himself.

* * *

"How goes it with the Archangel?" Sam asks, nuzzling into Dean's neck from behind as he lays with his mate on their bed, having welcomed Dean there a few hours before for some sleep curled against the warm demon, and Dean smiles, shivering, and presses back against Sam as his brother wraps his arms around him.

Dean sighs, burying his face in his pillow for a moment, inhaling the scent of blood and sulfur that in his little brother. "It's going well, I think. He is all bark, no bite, especially when my Angel is involved." Sam chuckles, rubbing his hand over Dean's stomach. "I should have him ready by the end of the month."

"I look forward to that," Sam purrs against Dean's pulse, unsheathing his teeth to lay a mark there. "I'm sure you won't disappoint me, Dean." He pushes at his mate, then, so Dean's lying on his stomach, and the older demon moans lightly when Sam drapes himself over Dean's back, hard cock lined up with Dean's hole, settling easily between his mate's eagerly spread legs. Sam guides himself in, thrusting deep enough, hard enough to draw blood, and Dean moans, more loudly this time, fisting the bed sheets tightly and bracing himself against the mattress. "And I've received word that there are more Angels coming to Earth now, searching for the ones we've captured. We'll have more for you to train soon enough."

Dean trembles at the thought, breathing heavily as Sam fucks into him, moans low in the back of his throat when Sam bites at him, hands digging into his hips harshly. "Castiel will soon be pregnant again, I think," he says, "and I'll begin to train the boy as soon as possible. You'll be unstoppable, Sammy."

"_We, _Dean; _we'll _be unstoppable," Sam breathes, turning Dean's head so he can kiss him, one hand curling around Dean's cock as he lifts his brother's hips, forming a tight fist for Dean to fuck into. "Hell is ours. Earth won't be long behind, and then…"

Dean smiles, and whispers 'Heaven' into Sam's mouth, and both brothers come at the thought.


	6. Training

**Title: **Training  
**Author: **HigherMagic  
**Pairings:** Demon!Dean/Castiel, Dean/Gabriel (minor), mentions of Castiel/Gabriel  
**Rating:** NC-17  
**Word Count:** ~ 4200  
**Spoilers: **None (This is AU)  
**Summary:** Good boys get rewarded  
**Notes/Warnings:** Lots of bloody, gorey, evil boys doing stuff to each other. Some time has passed since Gabriel was brought in – an indeterminate amount of time. And between the first scene and the second more time has passed.  
Unbeta'd. All mistakes are my own.

* * *

Dean is so pleased with how Castiel handled himself in that room with his brother that the next day, he takes the Angel to see their son.

The child is little more than a gurgling mass of flailing limbs still, fed with a mix of goat's milk and hellfire 'to add sweetness'. The baby seems happy enough chugging down the stuff, and when it cries its voice echoes with the high-pitched ringing of an Angel's true voice.

It is silent when Castiel approaches, wings dragging along the cold jagged concrete that cuts at his feet, and he almost stalks up to the cradle, an old-fashioned one like something out of old horror films, and looks down at his son. Green eyes blink up at him, flashing from black to green and back again as though he can't quite decide which filter to use, and he reaches up, grabbing with pale, tiny, chubby hands. The wisps on the top of his head have gotten thicker, and yes – he will definitely inherit Castiel's vessel's black hair.

The Angel reaches down with shaking hands, intent on picking up the child, but hesitates, looking at Dean. "…Can I?" he asks, hoping and praying with whatever battered piece of his Grace that is still holy that Dean won't refuse him, and that he can touch his son. In all honesty this is more than he expected – Dean made it very clear that he probably wouldn't see the boy again. This is very generous for the demon.

Dean pauses, his arms folded in front of his chest, eyes focused on some point around Castiel's hands, then nods. His eyes are flat black and his face is impassive, giving nothing away. Castiel reaches down and picks the baby up, cradling him to his chest in a loving hold. His wings move to wrap around the child, caressing the baby with silken, bloody feathers that leave behind a dry residue where they brush. When Castiel feels around the lines on his son's back, he finds them red and enflamed – the wings will start to grow in soon enough.

"We've named him Malachai," Dean says, drawing Castiel's attention, and the Angel doesn't ask who 'we' is – it could be anyone, could be no one at all. Instead, he just nods, thumbing his son's cheek lightly and smiling when the baby gurgles. He feels tears pricking the corners of his eyes and tries to swallow them back, but a few escape, and they feel cold against his face.

Dean lets him hold Malachai for another few minutes before he snaps harshly that it's time to go, and Castiel nods – Dean has been very good and kind to him, letting him see his son, and if Castiel keeps behaving perhaps he will get to see the child again, and watch him grow from afar. It is more than he ever expected or dared to wish for and it makes his devotion to Dean grow tenfold, at least.

When Dean escorts Castiel back to the dungeon that is unofficially, exclusively, Castiel's, the Angel asks his master why he was allowed this great honor. They sit in the middle of the room, Castiel on his knees with Dean behind him, reattaching the manacles around his wrists overly tightly, and winding thin threads of iron around his wings to keep them down.

"Because," the demon purrs in a voice that is smooth gravel and whiskey and makes Castiel shiver with want, "you've been so good, helping me, helping your brother." He pauses as he cinches the chains just a little tighter, so Castiel is forced against the wall, only a little give to his chains to allow his hands movement. Dean turns him, makes him face the demon, and smiles, carding his hands through Castiel's hair. "You earned a reward." Dean's nails scrape along Castiel's scalp, more harshly than necessary – it's always that way. Whenever Dean does something or says something involving Castiel that makes the Angel think there might be some kindness underneath that harsh demonic nature, Dean goes out of his way to prove otherwise. It just makes Castiel's conviction stronger – after all, he doth protest too much.

Castiel gasps against his master's – his mate's – lips, letting out a sound between a moan and a mewl when Dean's tongue slides easily into his mouth like it belongs there, and Castiel melts easily, submissively, into that kiss. That kiss that is more teeth than tongue and bruises his lips with its ferocity. He craves more like it.

He just craves.

"Dean…" His voice is high-pitched, a desperate whine and muffled against the demon's relentless onslaught as Dean pushes at him, forces him against the wall. Castiel knows he has no say in the matter, but he begs anyway; "Please, Dean, please, let me love you," he moans, wanton and agonized; "Let me bear you another child. Please, Dean." It's too soon – he knows it is – his body is still too fragile and in too much pain to carry another child, but he wants to be useful to Dean, and wants to serve him and make him happy, _so _badly, and bearing Dean's child would make him happy, so Castiel is all-too-willing to do it, despite the toll it will take on him.

Dean smirks to himself against his desperate Angel's lips, pushing him down onto his back on the ground so the intricate joints where his wings meet his body are crushed under their combined weights. He ravages Castiel's mouth and wonders at how easily his Angel broke, how much he wishes to serve Dean, and the thought makes Dean shudder in ways that, usually, he associates with Sam. The power high is heady and addictive when he's with Castiel, and if he had his way he would have his Angel begging for his cock every hour, every minute of every day.

He shuts Castiel's litany of begging off with his fingers, slipping them into the side of Castiel's mouth for the Angel to suck on before he pulls away from the kiss, staring at Castiel through onyx eyes. His smile grows when he watches his Angel bob his head on his fingers, sucking on them like his life depends on it, almost forcing himself to choke on them, and the wet warmth is (pardon the expression) Heaven, but Dean's got other plans.

Sam doesn't usually prep Dean, but Dean's not the one who's going to be bearing children. Even for demons who relish in pain and torture and agony, there is a certain logic to making an act as painless and pleasurable as possible – it keeps the victim coming back.

He pulls his fingers out of Castiel's mouth, smirking at the little whimper that accompanies the motion, as Castiel leans up, trying to chase him, but Dean keeps him down, covering the Angel's body with his own like a blanket, free hand digging for purchase on the soft inside of one of Castiel's wings. The Angel arches, crying out in pain as the grip twists some feathers, pulls at a couple more, but it's lost when Dean wiggles a finger into Castiel's ass. The Angel fights to relax, to let the intrusion in, but it's been a while since Dean fucked Castiel good, opened his Angel up wide and fucked into him hard enough that he'd still be loose the next morning, and the going's relatively slow. Too slow for Dean, who is impatient to get this show on the road and to create another half-breed that he can give to Sammy – a distraction while he prepares Gabriel, because the bastard's stubborn and though Dean's making headway, it's slower than he anticipated.

When he finally thrusts in, Castiel thanks him for it. Shouts praises at him, in fact, as the Angel arches up violently, grabbing at Dean's shoulders, his legs wrapping around Dean's hips and waist, pulling him in like a desperate little slut, and Dean tells him so; whispers the filthy litany into Castiel's ear as he bottoms out, buried in that tight heat.

His hands dig into the sensitive feathers, twisting and ruffling them, and he uses them as a grip to pull Castiel down onto his cock as he thrusts in. The action makes the jagged floor catch on Castiel's back, ripping at it, but the Angel just keeps begging for it. "Such a _slut, _Cas," Dean murmurs, awed by it almost, wondering, despite the fact that it's his fault.

Despite the fact that he's the same way with Sam.

Dean keeps himself as far away from Castiel's body as he can while still fucking into him – usually with his prey he leans over them, surrounds them with his presence and his evil soul, make them squirm and scream and beg him to stop, but he can't do that with Cas because the stupid whore would just _love _that. So he has to keep it cold and clinical – all in a day's work.

Castiel is flushed and sweating, his body trembling from the pain in his wings and the jarring thrusts that he can feel in his throat. Yet still he reaches for Dean, tries to bring him closer, mewls and whimpers when the demon snarls at him, eyes flat black, teeth bared. When the demon comes Castiel feels it in his very Grace, the warmth spreading through him, like a sacred gift, and he smiles against Dean's shoulder as the demon finally drops, resting his weight on Castiel as he rocks into the smaller man's body, milking his orgasm for all it's worth.

The Angel knows he's not meant to touch, not meant to reciprocate, but he can't stop himself petting through Dean's hair as the demon calms his breath and slows his heart. Dean's purring before he can stop himself.

When he realizes what he's doing, he tears himself away with a harsh growl, ripping out a few feathers on the way. "Stupid little…" He grabs for his knife and plunges it through Castiel's wing, pinning it there with his blade, and smiles when the Angel screams. "That's all you are, you got that?" Dean says, twisting the blade, tearing at the hole his knife makes as harshly and savagely as he can without ripping the damn thing off. "A whore. A toy. That's all you'll ever be."

He leaves Castiel shaking against the cold floor, tears leaking down the sides of his face, and he yanks his knife out in one smooth action, running it through his fingers as some blood and feathers come away with it. He's still growling under his breath, and Castiel is scared to _blink, _lest he anger the demon again. Dean's eyes flash to Castiel once more, before he heads to the door. "I'll be back in a few hours to fuck you again. I hope you'll have had a severe attitude adjustment by then."

* * *

Dean changes the way Gabriel's tied down several days later, extending the manacles around the Archangel's wrists so that he can stand and walk around a little, and then adds iron chains that burn his hands, wrapping long, thin threads around the base of Gabriel's wings. It provides quite an effective harness and handhold for them, especially when Dean sews them into his skin half-way along their span, so that he can reach out and grab hold without ripping out any feathers.

No. Dean does _that _with a little more…finesse.

He has Gabriel pinned down now on his stomach, his knife against the back of the Archangel's neck to keep him down as he straddles Gabriel's back, and cards his fingers through the golden-brown feathers.

Touching an Angel's wings is an intimate thing, something that only the closest Angels ever do for one another. Before getting trapped in Hell, Gabriel would have never thought of a _demon _touching his wings with anything more than revulsion and righteous anger. Now it feels…kind of nice. It's the only pleasure he's gotten amidst the pain of Dean's relentless torture, aside from the blowjobs he's forced into with Castiel for Dean's pleasure.

Something must have happened with his little brother and the demon. Castiel is even quieter than usual and keeps his eyes on the ground at all times. Dean is even harsher with his little brother, if that's even possible; he's sparse with his comments towards the Angel, would probably ignore him altogether if he didn't need the extra set of hands.

Gabriel's unsure what this means for him, that this coldness towards his brother means more attention thrown his way.

Dean's fingers are warm in Gabriel's feathers as he pets them, the cold blade against the Archangel's throat the only thing keeping Gabriel from relaxing completely. Even as he thinks this, Dean shifts his weight, getting blood flow back into his legs, and leans forward, digging the angled tip of the knife under Gabriel's neck, forcing him up into a mild yoga-like position, so Gabriel has to hold his upper body up, hips still against the floor where Dean's weight rests.

It's there the pleasure stops.

Dean's voice is a low purr in his ear when he tells Castiel to bring him his tools. That's what he calls them. The wet sloshing noise doesn't ring any bells with Gabriel in his memory – he can't put a name to whatever 'tools' Dean might be using today, but then there is a snick-ring of a metallic bucket full of water being set down, and Dean's weight shifts on his back, leaning over to grab at that bucket and drag it closer. As the side knocks against Gabriel's arm, some of the liquid sloshes over onto his hand, and he hisses, shying away. It's not water – it's acid, and it burns at Gabriel's skin. He tries to move his hand away but the way he's positioned mean he would just fall flat on his face into the acid, if he didn't decapitate himself first, so he grits his teeth and bears it, and tries to shift his feathers away from the growing spill.

Dean reaches into the bucket, uncaring for the vitriol that his tools are soaked in, and pulls out what looks like a hacksaw, but instead of the blade there is a thick piece of cheese wire strung tight enough to pluck a note out of it. He turns the instrument this way and that, and it catches light out of the corner of Gabriel's eye, but the Archangel doesn't move. He can only brace himself.

He hisses at the first contact of the wire against his wings. It's a light touch but it _burns, _fuck does it burn, and Dean slices around one of his longer flight feathers. The thing doesn't come away as easily as it would with a knife due to the dullness of the wire, and the end result is a long feather plucked out, with bits of nerve and flesh stuck on the end. Dean smiles, holding the feather up in the light, and then sets it to one side. Then, he dips his finger in the bucket and presses it onto the open wound.

Gabriel howls for him, his wings flare out in defense, but Dean's chained them down so they can't hit him. The Archangel shudders, pulling his wings tightly into his vessel. It feels like too much pressure inside of him, but this alternative is better than the other.

Dean purrs in triumph, petting Gabriel's hair, and lets him fall. "You learn fast, pretty," he says, getting up from the Archangel's back and leaving little streaks of acid burning his skin behind. "That's very good. My preferences and Sammy's can be different sometimes, so you'll have to be smart about it."

"Bastard," Gabriel chokes, spits out some of his own blood where he'd bitten through his own bottom lip to stop himself crying out. His vessel feels like it's about to explode, and he has to relax, feeling safe since Dean is far away now and lets his wings out again.

He should have known better.

Dean's back there in an instant, dipping more acid into his wing and Gabriel can feel it in his very blood, pulsing liquid fire through the appendage until it feels like it's going to seize up, and it would be less painful to just cut the damn thing off. Gabriel cries out and collapses against the floor, overwhelmed with the amount of pain he's feeling.

The demon laughs, getting up again, and goes to the wingtip of Gabriel's uninjured wing. "Your time on Earth made you soft, pretty," he purrs, grabbing onto one of the wire handholds he'd sewn into Gabriel's wing, pressing down with his foot at the same time he jerks his hand up, snapping the bone, and Gabriel screams again. "You got lazy, got used to healing away pain. You could control it. Well, you don't anymore, do you understand?" Another jerk, another snap, and another scream. "_I _control it. I'm the one who decides whether you get to feel good or bad." Dean slashes down with his knife, lays open Gabriel's wing to the bone, along the very top bone where the joint spreads out into six long fingers to control the way his wings extend and close. "I'm the one who gets to heal you, or hurt you." He cups his hand, buries it in the acid and then throws that on the open cut, without a case for finesse now. "Do you understand me?"

Gabriel can't speak – his throat is blocked from tears and blood – but he tries to nod, because he does understand. He has no power here. Dean's whim is the only thing keeping him alive, with a chance of escape. Sooner or later the demon will slip up, but until then…

His answer isn't good enough, and Dean keeps splashing acid onto him. _"Do you understand me, Gabriel?" _he growls, and it's the first time Dean's called him something other than a nickname. The shock of it coils through Gabriel's Grace, filling him with something he can't identify.

"Yes!" he chokes out, tries to scream it at the demon, because he understands. God, he understands; he just wants it to stop. "Yes, yes, I understand!" He tries to curl in on himself, but can't because of the way he's tied down, and shudders when Dean stops splashing him, the demon pausing, watching Gabriel with calculating black eyes.

Finally, after an infinite moment, Gabriel feels a gentle hand in his hair, stroking it away from his blood-and-tear-stained face, and a soft voice soothing him. It's Dean's voice, and it's gentle and coaxing, telling him what a good boy he is and how happy he's made Dean, and although he can't see, he knows Castiel's eyes are burning into him, full of jealousy.

Dean's hand covers where he tore the feather out, and Gabriel feels the weird sensation of Dean sticking the feather back in, healing over the wound, and then carding through the parts of his wings that aren't injured. Gabriel shakes with anxiety, worried that Dean just healed him to torture him all over again, but the demon's gentle petting continues until Gabriel finally manages to lift his head, to turn and look at the demon.

Dean is smiling, and then pulls Gabriel up by the chin. The Archangel doesn't fight when the demon's tongue slides into his mouth with a rich taste of sulfur and iron, and he moans brokenly when Dean pulls him closer by his wing, petting through the sensitive underside and around where the iron bites into his flesh, where wings meet his body. Gabriel's shuddering, wings surrounding Dean and himself because he's so confused – he doesn't know how to feel. Dean's moods change more swiftly than the wind and they're twice as wild, and Gabriel doesn't know whether the next touch will hurt, or _ache. _He's hard against Dean's thigh, rocking against the demon with desperate little mewls, and cries out when Dean's fist closes around him, stroking him smoothly, efficiently, while his other hand busies itself still in Gabriel's wings. Gabriel arches, pleading against Dean's mouth for _something, _anything that isn't pain, because this feels so good and he _aches _and his skin still burns where the acid touches him, and when he comes the demon purrs into his mouth, his voice a deep rumble in his chest and his words feel like fire along Gabriel's skin;

"You're almost ready."

He can't remember for what anymore – can't remember if he was ever told. He's here for a reason, but right now – right then – that reason was to make Dean happy. It isn't right – Gabriel's an _Archangel, _damn it – and he's meant for something _bigger _than…this. But he can't remember, and that terrifies him.

It seems like years he's been down here. Perhaps it has. There's no sun or time in Hell.

Dean smiles, breaking their kiss with one last lick along the roof of Gabriel's mouth, and then he lets the Archangel fall, discarding him without a second thought. He stands, going over to Castiel, and pulls the Angel up by the throat. He seems angry again, and Gabriel has a fleeting worry about his brother's safety before blood loss, pain and the orgasm take their toll on him, and he slips into sleep for the first time since he was created.

* * *

"What gives you the _right?" _Dean growls, slamming Castiel against a wall. They don't even make it to Castiel's dungeon – that's how pissed off Dean is right now. "You look at me like you _own _me," the demon continues, his fingers digging into Castiel's shoulders hard enough to draw blood and rip at muscle, and the Angel whines, desperately looking anywhere but Dean's face. "You have been very good, Angel, and I gave you a gift for that – I let you see your son, and then _this _is how you repay me for that kindness?" Castiel wants to protest, to say he didn't meant to be so rebellious, and that he's sorry, and he'll do anything his master wants if it means staying by Dean's side, but Dean would likely kill him if he spoke right now, so he swallows and says nothing.

Dean growls, pulling him along again. "You're lucky I still have use for you, you fucking ungrateful whore," he snarls, pushing Castiel back into the room he keeps the Angel in. Castiel immediately goes to his knees, his wings out and shaking, awaiting whatever punishment Dean deems fit to deal him. He knows he's been bad and he'll gladly accept the consequences.

Then, Dean surprises him. He shuts the door behind him, and kneels in front of Castiel, for once on the Angel's level without holding his head, still controlling him. Castiel dares to meet Dean's eyes – they are green now, which is unusual when he's angry. Castiel's thrown off-balance, unsure as to what that means.

"Do you love me, Castiel?" Dean asks, voice soft, contemplative almost. The Angel blinks, surprised at the question. His eyes follow Dean's hand when the demon reaches forward, stroking down the side of his face like a lover, and Castiel's eyes fall closed at the first gentle touch. It's everything he's ever wanted from Dean and it damn near breaks him. "Answer me, Cas; do you love me?"

The Angel can't speak. He nods, because it's true – Dean is the best thing in his existence, in his life, and he'd gladly do anything for Dean. If that's not love then he doesn't know what is. "Yes," he just manages to choke out, opening his eyes again.

Dean's smiling; a mix between his predator's smile and his legitimate one, that Castiel has only seen flashes of over their time together. "You shouldn't," the demon purrs, moving his hand so he's grabbing Castiel's chin again, tilting the Angel's head up as he leans closer; "I'm a bad man, Angel. I do bad things."

Dean's mouth is right by his neck – the demon could rip his throat apart if he had half a mind to, and Castiel feels that fear like a taste in his mouth. He shivers when Dean's lips rasp over his skin as he speaks. "I don't care," he answers, half-praying that that's the right thing to say. He doesn't pray to God anymore – can hardly remember who or what that is, only knows the word because Dean repeatedly curses him or shouts for him during sex, like it's something to be mocked – but he does pray to Dean. Dean is his lord, his master, and Castiel prays to him.

There's a gentle hum against Castiel's throat, and then Dean pulls away without making good on his threat. Instead, he gives Castiel a light kiss on his forehead before he stands. He leaves without saying goodbye, and without saying when he'll be back – he doesn't owe Castiel that much – and by the time the third week comes around, Castiel realizes he's pregnant again, and he smiles.

Dean will be pleased.


	7. Progress

**Title: **Progress  
**Author: **HigherMagic  
**Pairings:** Demon!Dean/Demon!Sam, minor Dean/Gabriel and Dean/Castiel  
**Rating:** NC-17  
**Word Count:** ~ 3400  
**Spoilers: **None (This is AU)  
**Summary:** Gabriel's getting closer, but he just needs that little extra…push.  
**Notes/Warnings:** Lots of bloody, gory, evil boys doing stuff to each other.  
Also, this chapter deals with miscarriage, and mental states that I _do not agree with. _I don't think of miscarriage in this way whatsoever and I'm sorry if I offend. It's how demons and brainwashed people think in my Muse's mind.  
Unbeta'd. All mistakes are my own.

* * *

Time is…not exactly fluid, in Hell. It's more like…blue-tac, or silly putty. People can pull pieces of it apart for their use, then when they're done add it to the whole, or they can stretch the whole or bend it any way they want. That's how Alistair made four months topside look like forty years. That's how Dean, in this little bubble with the Archangel, managed to make a few days outside of the room more like several years inside.

Still, all things considered, Gabriel breaks surprisingly quickly. It helps to have that little extra incentive that is promise of painlessness, and pain upon his beloved brother should he reject Dean's instructions.

Gabriel's too powerful to keep his wings in check all the time. Dean doesn't think this'll be much of a problem – Sammy will probably love the wings. They are beautiful, giant golden-brown things that are the same color as Gabriel's eyes when they glow and shimmer sometimes, rippling like there's a water current that's only affecting him. Dean likes it.

He wishes, sometimes, that Castiel felt safe enough to keep his wings exposed all the time. Then again, Dean doesn't exactly deserve it, with what he's done.

When Dean looks at Gabriel, he's surprised at how he feels. He's…angry. Jealous. And that's stupid – that's a stupid thing to think and he doesn't know why, and it makes him angrier, and he takes it out on everyone – anyone – that stands in his way and pisses him off even in the slightest. He's so fucking angry and he doesn't know why.

* * *

"Why do I feel like this?" he growls, tearing into Adam Milligan's soul with no care for finesse – he has the ultimate goal that Adam die as quickly, horribly and as many times as possible during this day. He has Hell Hounds waiting on the sidelines, snarling and champing at their invisible collars for the boy's organs that Dean kept 'alive' by allowing the nerve endings to remain in place, so Adam will feel it when they get ripped apart by jagged, serrated teeth. He's asking like he expects the boy to know – he doesn't, of course he doesn't. That question was the first words Dean's said to him that day.

Still, he tries. Through a voice that's hoarse from screaming and thick with tears he says; "Maybe you're jealous." And Dean's kind of impressed, because that answer took some balls (which Dean took care of removing earlier in the day, so it's doubly impressive) but it just makes him frustrated all over again.

"Alright, know-it-all," he snaps back, climbing on top of the burning rack. His feet sting where they land on the acid-covered, boiling metal that constantly touches Adam's skin, and pulls the boy's head up by the hair at the back of his head. Dean leans down, lips by Adam's ear; "Tell me; how do I solve jealousy? There are circles for the likes of me."

And Dean thinks that it might have just been a trick of the light (if there was such thing as light and shade in a place like this) because Adam's soul darkens for a moment, and his eyes turn black – he's on his way. "Make what belongs to someone else, belong to you. Or, if it's the Master you want, become his own property."

"Riddles," Dean snaps, slamming the boy's head back down with a derisive snort. He grabs for his knife which he'd thrown in a rage, embedded near the entrance to the torture chamber, handle still vibrating slightly from the force of it. "All the same, you changelings. Until you get your soul the right shade you're all riddles and lies and secrets." He spits at the ground, and then snaps his fingers, and the Hounds are released.

Adam's screams are like music to his ears, but it's not as satisfying as some good old Zeppelin.

* * *

Adam's words stay with him though, and when Dean finally figures it out, he almost fucking breaks down. Sam's inside of him, always inside of him, as deep as he can go when the realization dawns, and it makes Dean cling to his brother, almost desperate if demons were inclined to feel such things, and he whimpers against Sam's neck, trying to hide the shame of his _feelings. _Sam doesn't like Dean when he's emotional.

"What's the matter?" Sam asks, pulling away just slightly, and slowing his rhythm down so it's more of a steady rocking than a brutal fuck, and Dean sighs, blinking back tears, forcing his body to obey him. Sam brushes a hand down the side of his face, surprisingly affectionate; "Dean, tell me – your heart is heavy."

The older brother sighs, wrapping his legs just a little tighter around Sam's hips, pulls his brother just a little deeper. He cards his fingers through Sammy's hair and pulls his little brother down for a soft brush of lips, skin against skin and just feeling the warmth. "I just…I wish I was enough," he says after a moment, deepening their kiss after he speaks so Sam can't reply, because he knows what Sam will say and it'll damn near break him. "I wish I could give you what you're seeking in the _Angel." _He spits the word, forgetting that this whole 'Half-breed' thing was his idea, because once Dean thinks it, it's _Sammy's _idea, and Dean is just a train stop on the road to what _Sam _wants and what _Sam _needs. Dean takes one of Sam's hands and splays it over his own abdomen. "A child. A powerful one, Sammy; I wish I could give it to you," he sighs, slanting his lips over his brother's again, letting Sam dominate that kiss almost lazily while he thinks, and ponders over what Dean's just told him.

When Sam withdraws, his eyes burn amber, and he's smiling just a little. It isn't a particularly nice smile. He leans down, lips fractions of an inch from Dean's, and husks; "Stop being such a hormonal bitch." Dean flinches at the words, but knows they're true, so he takes them, nodding as though Sam was expecting an answer from him. "You know where you stand with me, Dean. That's not going to change."

"I'm sorry," Dean replied, instantly apologetic because _of course _Dean knows. He knows how precarious his position is too, and while Sam wouldn't leave him for an Angel toy, he might get ideas and know that there are better things out there than his brother. Because although Sam loves him, it's just because he needs someone that's so fucking loyal to him that the thought of betraying him wouldn't have ever crossed Dean's mind in a million years. He pulls Sam down again, whining when his little brother hesitates, denying him. "I'm sorry, Sammy – please don't be angry."

"I'm not angry," Sam replies gently, like coaxing a wounded, frightened animal to sleep, petting down Dean's flanks as he picks up his pace again, fucking into Dean with the wild abandon that he usually has, deeming the conversation to be over. They don't speak another word until Dean is full of Sam's come and Sam's blood, and is left to recuperate while Sam goes about matters of business that are more important than his brother.

* * *

When Dean goes into Gabriel's dungeon the next day, he's calmer. Calm enough to not have that inherent violence buzzing under his skin, giving a twitch to his fingers and a permanent blackness to his eyes. When he enters the room, Gabriel looks up from where he's still shackled to the wall, and moves. He doesn't move away from Dean, curling the wings he can't quite keep in around himself in defense, but rather _towards _the demon, eyes shining like he's glad to see Dean.

_He's finally ready, _Dean thinks, and swallows the jealous bile that forms at the thought. Adam's words echo again in his head. Become the Master or the Master's servant. He's already one…why can't he be both?

He smiles his Cheshire cat smile, twirling his blade in his hand, and Gabriel's eyes follow it intently, cautious and wary but no less eager. He really is ready – he's ready to stop feeling pain, now, or at least know that when he's been good he'll get a reward. Dean hasn't fed him for seven days (at least, a perceived seven days) and it's taken a toll on Gabriel's vessel. He's fallen enough that he needs food, and that's a start.

"Hello, pretty," he purrs, smiling when he comes forward and kneels in front of the Archangel, taking Gabriel's chin in his hand. The Archangel is lax, following Dean's manhandling willingly, eagerly almost, and his Grace swirls with the most delicious honey-yellow shade, mixed with black like the patterns of a wasp. "How are you feeling today?" His blade trails a light journey over Gabriel's collarbone, dipping in deep enough to draw blood, which he scoops up with his thumb and licks off, tasting the pain and arousal there, and almost laughs.

Gabriel sighs out the word 'Good', and Dean grins widely at him, pulling Gabriel forward again and sliding his tongue into the Archangel's mouth. Gabriel is a good kisser – a slut and a heathen when he was on Earth and that's leaked through. The Angel knows what to do with his mouth, and Dean's confident he will be able to satisfy Sam despite the fact that Dean's never had him.

Dean doesn't need to have him. He has a sixth sense about these things – Castiel needed practice, but Gabriel…doesn't.

He laughs when the Archangel moans pitifully when he draws away, placing a small nip to the other man's lower lip as a promise of more and an incentive to behave. He's got plans, now – big plans to make Gabriel just that little more compliant, eager to serve Dean for the last stages of his training. It's a risky move but it worked with Castiel, so why not with Gabriel too?

"I'll be right back, pretty," Dean says, his voice a low husky purr that makes Gabriel shiver, and then he stands up, pushing Gabriel's head away, and stalks out of the room. He has things to prepare.

* * *

He visits Castiel first. Maybe it's that things are moving so fast – or so slow – and maybe it's because Castiel's been a bit…off recently (not that he would care because he fucking _doesn't) _but he feels like he needs to see the Angel, to check on him.

When he comes in, he's surprised; Castiel _shies _away from him, legitimate, bone-deep terror showing on his face, in his eyes. There's blood in the room – fresh blood – and Dean almost smirks because if Castiel's been harming himself, trying to end his life, he's going to be sorely disappointed.

The second option, when it occurs to him, is that another demon has been in here, messing with what's _his, _and that thought makes him growl, eyes flashing black. He surveys the room, and finds nothing out of place – just his quivering Angel and a fresh blood stain along the wall and the floor. Castiel shifts, unfolding his wings so that they cover his thin, pale body and Dean strides forward, catching the top joint in a powerful grip. He wrenches Castiel's wing away from his body, _snarling _when the Angel fights back, shouts out 'No!' and cowers away.

Too late, though. Dean sees the blood.

"What happened?" he asks, pulling the Angel's wing away again, this time more gently as he kneels down, and holds his knife against Castiel's thigh as incentive for the Angel to spread his legs. Castiel's shaking, closing his eyes tightly and shaking his head.

Begging.

"Castiel…look at me," Dean growls, tries to make his voice commanding, but it just comes out weak, shaken by his Angel's display though he'd never admit it. He's used to Castiel fearing him and being meek and submissive, but _not _like this…this _terrified, _shaken, _broken _thing that can't even look at him. "Look at me, damn it."

"Please, Dean, no…" Castiel begs, reaching out blindly to grab onto Dean's forearm, even though doing so makes the demon's hold tighten on his wing and it _hurts, _now, almost breaking his joint apart. "Please, Dean, just this once, leave me alone."

Dean growls again, because this will _not _be tolerated. "No, Castiel." He digs his knife into the inside of Castiel's thigh, forcing the Angel to spread his legs. There's blood there – a huge fucking amount. Way more than Dean's ever dealt to him, and it worries the demon. "What…?" He turns questioning black eyes to the Angel, finds Castiel watching him with fearful, agonized blue eyes that shine brightly with tears.

"I lost it," Castiel finally says, and then buries his face in his arms, drawing his wings tightly around himself despite Dean's hold – fights it off because he has to hide. He will take the demon's punishment because he was a bad Angel and lost the baby, but just…not now. He prays to Dean to be merciful and leave him alone, just for a little while. He needs to be alone.

Dean doesn't do that. It takes a moment for the demon to register what Castiel's just told him, and when it does he has no idea what to do. Some part of him – a part of him he thought had died long ago – flares with compassion and the need to comfort and reassure, but he can't do that. Not now. That's not how he is anymore and he's a _demon _God-damnit, and this isn't how they roll. Besides, it's Castiel's fucking fault, losing the baby. He managed to do fine with Malachai – so what the fuck happened now?

The demon stands, rubbing his knife handle between his palms, and considers. "Tomorrow I'm going to come here and clean this place up," he says, thinking aloud more than anything else – he can't lose any more half-breeds or Sam's army won't be ready in time. He might need to make Castiel…_happy, _and _healthy _to do that. Stupid whore probably needs _food _and sleep and shit like that. "We're going to give it a whole new look, and you'll get bathed and fed, and we'll try again." His tone of voice tells Castiel that the Angel has no say in the matter. "I don't know how it works with you Angels, but you're going to get pregnant again as soon as possible, and we're going to start trying again tomorrow."

Castiel shivers at that, because he feels…_wrecked, _broken from the inside. He feels like a part of him has died. He doesn't want to risk going through that again…but Dean's his Master, and his mate, and he'll do anything for Dean. He nods, knowing Dean doesn't really expect him to reply or care if he does, and then the demon is leaving, and his head shoots up. "Dean, wait!"

Dean stops, and turns, surprise and lingering anger showing on his face. Castiel fights the urge to flinch away, feeling like a failure. "Can you…stay with me? Please?" He doesn't want to be alone.

The demon's eyes turn cold, and his face hardens. "No," he snaps, and then closes the door behind him. Castiel curls in on himself again, hiding from the world, and cries.

* * *

Dean has work to do. With the loss of his second child, he has to work now more than ever to get Gabriel submissive and ready for Sam. The Archangel's pretty much good and ready, but one moment with Sam would probably have him back to fighting spirit, wanting to get away, and he might harm himself or do something that would render him practically useless. To some, the Final Death is better than Hell, and Dean's never been inclined to agree, but he knows it happens.

So he has to make Gabriel _want _Sam.

When Dean enters the Archangel's room again, he beckons Gabriel over to him, kneeling in front of the Archangel when he comes as far as the chains will allow him to without hesitation. Dean almost smiles, taking Gabriel's chin in his hands, searching his face for a long moment.

"How does it work?" he finally asks, letting the Archangel drop, and he stands up, paces around the room like he has somewhere to be or something to prepare. He doesn't, but that doesn't stop him. "The pregnancy thing."

There's a pause while Gabriel considers his answer. "I'm not sure," he replies honestly, knowing that the demon will probably not like this answer, but it's the only one he can give. "I imagine it just has something to do with the…timing, I think, but Hell's timing is all messed up so it's hard, sometimes, to know."

"But you can know?" Dean asks again, turning around, facing Gabriel's back and watching how the wings twitch, muscles commanding bone and sinew to move under the Archangel's back. "You can predict and know when a pregnancy will happen?"

Gabriel nods. "Most of the time." Then, he makes a very serious mistake; "Castiel is young, and inexperienced with such things. I wouldn't be surprised if something went wrong."

Dean snarls, striding forward and hooking the sharp edge of his blade around Gabriel's throat, digging deep enough to draw a startling amount of blood as he forces the Archangel back, all the strain on his legs to keep him upright and not to topple onto the floor. "Don't fucking _talk _about him," he hisses into the Archangel's ear, his eyes flat black and violence hanging around him like a second skin. "You don't have the right or the…you can't…" Dean growls again, pissed off at his own jealousy that someone else should say _his _Angel's name – Gabriel hasn't earned the fucking _right. _Castiel belongs to _Dean. _"Don't fucking say his name," he finishes with a sharp yank on Gabriel's hair, forcing the knife-wound that had been clotting to reopen again, blood to pour sluggishly from the semi-healed cut. Dean steps away, wiping the knife on his pants leg. "Is there any way to speed such things along?" he asks, snaps more like, his body tense now that blood's been spilled. He's going to pay Adam another visit before the day is out and he retires to Sam's room.

Gabriel swallows, righting his position so he's kneeling on the floor again, eyes down and wings drawn defensively around himself. "I…don't know," he confesses again, and knows Dean won't like that answer, but it's all he can say. "I guess if…_I_," he stops himself before he can make the mistake of mentioning his brother's name again, "was healthy and happy, predictions could get…better."

"He _knew _it was too soon, didn't he?" Dean growls, eyes flashing green for a moment as he thinks back to Castiel, wantonly begging for his seed again, for a new child. "He would have known it was too soon, but he wanted one anyway." Gabriel's quiet as the demon muses to himself, tapping the bloody tip of his knife against his lower lip. "That's interesting."

Dean's mood shifts, then, and he smiles. It's not a particularly nice smile and it makes Gabriel's tainted Grace shiver with fear. The demon's eyes slide into black. "Castiel is a good Angel, wouldn't you agree?" he asks, looking over at Gabriel again and coming to stand before him. The Archangel swallows and nods, not knowing if this constitutes as talking about his brother but unwilling to _not _answer as well. "Good Angels get rewarded Gabriel, you know that, right?" Another swallow, another nod. Gabriel's wings uncurl slightly, flaring out behind him. "Do you want to be a good Angel, pretty? Do you want to get rewarded?"

Gabriel hesitates on his nod, because Dean's voice is low and gentle, and that means the demon's planning something. Gabriel's wary, but he _does _want to be good. He wants to _feel _good, and get good things. Good things are…well, good. And not painful.

He lifts his eyes that are duller than normal, more brown than hazel, and meets Dean's onyx, and nods once more. Dean's smile turns into a fully fledged grin, and his non-knife-wielding hand cards itself through Gabriel's sweat-and-blood-damp, matted hair.

"Are you thirsty, Angel? Would you like something to drink?"

Hunger is like a background to the pain in Hell. Gabriel's aware of it and it gnaws at him, more so every inch he falls, but _thirst. _Thirst is stifling and raw, and it hurts to speak and to scream, especially when you've gone hoarse and you'd _die _for a drink. Gabriel's nod is more enthusiastic now, and less wary, because _God, _he wants. Fire burns in his throat when Dean smiles, and twirls his blade in his hand and then, very deliberately, presses it against his own neck. His eyes burn with black flames.

"Then drink."


	8. Conception

**Title: **Conception  
**Author: **HigherMagic  
**Pairings:** Demon!Dean/Demon!Sam, Dean/Gabriel, Dean/Castiel, Gabriel/Castiel, and a Foursome  
**Rating:** NC-17  
**Word Count:** ~ 4700  
**Spoilers: **None (This is AU)  
**Summary:** They're _finally _ready, and Dean can hardly wait.  
**Notes/Warnings:** Lots of bloody, gory, evil boys doing stuff to each other.  
Unbeta'd. All mistakes are my own.

* * *

_Fire burns in his throat when Dean smiles, and twirls his blade in his hand and then, very deliberately, presses it against his own neck. His eyes burn with black flames._

"_Then drink."

* * *

_

There's no thought to it. Gabriel's eyes zero in on that one smooth motion, lips parted, throat dry as the first drop spills over Dean's blade. The demon's smile is ravenous and cutting, and he chuckles when Gabriel stands and tries to lunge for his throat, but the shackles hold him back and bite into his wings and the Archangel cries out, falling to his knees again.

Dean kneels in front of Gabriel, baring his throat tauntingly as he lowers his blade, his vein severed and his blood drips, thick and oozing down his chest, pooling at the hollow of his throat like a lazy serpent. "Come on, pretty," the demon purrs, leaning forward, just out of Gabriel's reach. "Drink."

Gabriel tries – Lord does he try – to fight against the bindings holding him back. His collar practically flares as he struggles, but the chains hold firm and he pants brokenly into the air, head bowed and wings quivering.

"I can't reach you," he murmurs, and it's suddenly gotten colder because his breath mists in the air. Or maybe it's that the Archangel is glowing hot. Dean smiles his Cheshire cat smile and drags the bloodied tips of his fingers through Gabriel's hair, tilting the Archangel's head up so he has no choice but to watch the blood slide teasingly down Dean's body, soaking him more than a being without a heartbeat should. "_Please."_

Dean chuckles again. "Well, since you asked so nicely…" Then, he leans forward, easily slotting against Gabriel's body, the smaller, shaking man warm and solid against him. Gabriel doesn't hesitate – he _can't _– his throat burns and Dean's blood is a heady siren call, so black and so _wrong _and dirty but Gabriel _loves _it, has learned to love it, and he moans at that first taste as it explodes across his tongue.

The demon pushes Gabriel back, pinning the smaller being down with his body and baring his throat for the Archangel as Gabriel latches on and drinks greedily, like a newborn baby. Dean's smiling and purring, eyes closed but black behind his lids as he loses himself in the sensation of being drunk from. He hasn't had this since Castiel, since the Angel stopped needing his blood to be compliant, and he misses it. He knows that when he drinks from Sammy that his mate enjoys it too, and he'd forgotten just how much until this.

He pets through Gabriel's hair, supporting the creature as he drinks and grinds his hips down against Gabriel's own, against the Archangel's own hard cock and they both moan, Gabriel giving a desperate little buck and he chokes around his mouthful of blood for a moment when Dean reaches down with his free hard and fists him, hard.

Taunting questions spew from his mouth; "Such a good, pretty Angel, aren't we? Do you see now? Do you see how good it can be if you behave? Do you want to behave, pretty Angel? Want to behave and feel good all the time?" He brands the words into the Archangel's skin, his palms searing hot and leaving nail marks and burns from his fingertips behind on Gabriel's body as the Archangel shudders and moans, drinking down Dean's blood like it's the nectar of life, and Dean shivers, feeling a little lightheaded that the creature is taking so much, and when he pulls away Gabriel is suddenly strong, keeps him down, keeps drinking from him.

Dean snarls, and repays bite for bite, sliding his sharper-than-normal teeth into the Archangel's artery, and Gabriel is so surprised at the sudden point of pain amongst all the pleasure that he lets go, and Dean tears himself away with another low growl. His eyes burn black now, anger and fear warring for purchase of his body. He reaches for his knife unconsciously which he had left on the floor, holding it between himself and Gabriel like a shield.

"Don't overstay your welcome, Gabriel," he snaps, and the Archangel looks up at him with pupil-blown eyes, confused and still dazed, panting with his mouth, chin and jaw covered in blood. _Dean's _blood. The demon snarls again for no apparent reason, and then sheaths his blade. "You're going to come with me now, you got that, pretty Angel?"

"Yes," Gabriel pants, making it sound like a prayer. He sits up, wings torn from where he'd struggled to fight, to get at Dean's blood and drink, and the demon tuts softly, kneeling down behind him to unwrap the chains and heal the bleeding gashes. "Dean?"

"Yes, pretty?"

"…I think I'm ready now."

Dean stops, watching the back of Gabriel's head for a moment, pondering that. The Archangel turns his head slightly after a while, wondering at his silence, and Dean slides a hand through the curling bottom of Gabriel's hair, tilts his head back and slides his tongue into the Archangel's mouth, past those thin, pink lips and into the blood-soaked warmth beyond. He pulls Gabriel's head back as far as it can go before his back has to move to compensate, Dean kneeling up to get a good angle.

When he pulls away, he's grinning, and black eyes stare down into hazel-golden. "That's funny," he purrs, coaxing Gabriel's ruffled feathers back into place along the newly-healed membrane. "Because I think you're getting in way over your head."

* * *

Dean leads Gabriel into Castiel's room, and then lets the lead rope connecting the collar to his hand drop. The Angel looks up at his brother and his mate entering the room, blue eyes wide and curious and afraid, his face still stained with tears where he just _couldn't _stop crying, and he kneels up when Dean approaches him, taking in a shaky breath; the demon must be coming to punish him now for losing the baby.

The demon watches his Angel's face carefully, taking in the sunken eyes and pale – unhealthily pale – skin of Castiel's body, how dark the circles under his eyes are and how his wings droop because he doesn't have enough energy to keep them up. Dean used to look at these things with pleasure, with a thrilling kind of warmth, but now…it disgusts him. Castiel is dirty and Dean dirties himself by fucking him. The Angel needs an upgrade.

At least, that's what the demon tells himself. That's what the black majority votes for while that small, compassionate part of him is buried behind bloodlust and sin.

He cups Castiel's cheek and the Angel shudders, drawing in another shaky breath, and when his eyes flutter open they're bright with tears and dark with fear, and Dean leans forward, brushing their lips together chastely, not tasting – not claiming. He can feel Castiel's warm breath on his face as the Angel parts his lips, preparing to be taken like Dean promised he would, but he doesn't. Instead, he stands, and summons the Archangel over to him.

When Gabriel's kneeling next to Castiel, both Angels facing Dean, the demon allows himself a moment to just look at them. They're so beautiful…all pliant and willing and so eager to please him, to serve him. He curls his fingers around his blade absently as he watches, noticing every nervous rustle of Gabriel's feathers or when the Archangel swallows – Castiel has learned to be still, and Gabriel will also with time.

Dean crouches down again, in front of Gabriel, and takes the Archangel's chin in his hands, and leans forward and kisses him again. Next to them, though he doesn't make a sound, Dean can feel Castiel stiffen in hurt and anger as the demon licks into his brother's mouth, tasting his own blood still lingering there, and gives a satisfied purr.

When he pulls away, his eyes are black; "Go service your brother, sweetheart. Show me what you can do for mine," he says with an innocent, predatory smile, and Gabriel blinks once, slowly, before he looks to Castiel and understanding dawns in his eyes. "Go on," Dean coaxes, knows that this is another test for Gabriel's readiness. "I thought you said you were ready, pretty. Show me what you can do."

The demon hovers behind him, a serpent in his ear, testing and taunting Gabriel as the Archangel finally draws in a long breath and holds it for a moment, and then he uncurls from his submissive stance easily, fluid like water, and moves the few feet of distance until he's plastered easily in the space between Castiel's arm and his wing.

His brother is cold towards him, swallowing back the righteous anger at what he's just seen – his brother just kissed his mate. _His _mate, and Castiel knows that Gabriel didn't do it on purpose – that he's just being a good Angel and obeying his Master's orders – but it's hard to see that through the haze of red that's descended over his vision.

Gabriel nuzzles into his neck, whining softly as Castiel merely turns his head away, and instead turns his attention to his brother's wings, carding the feathers the wrong way sometimes, knotting his fingers in the delicate underside. Against his will, Castiel shakes and lets out a quiet little whimper, his eyes squeezed tightly shut and when he opens them again, Dean is in front of him, the demon hard and jerking himself slowly as he watches the two Angels. Castiel's mouth falls open as he watches Dean, realizing the demon's getting off on this, and Gabriel takes the quick advantage, rearing up and claiming Castiel's mouth in a rough, slightly off-centre kiss that has the young Seraph tasting blood. _Dean's _blood, and he moan-whines into that kiss, suddenly so unbearably hard.

Dean used to let him drink from him all the time, once he'd broken. It was a reward for being a good Angel, for pleasing Dean so entirely that he had earned just a drop, a swallow, a taste. Then Dean stopped giving him any, didn't think he kept deserving it, and try as Castiel might he hadn't managed to 'earn' another taste for _years. _Decades. And now Gabriel's mouth is _filled _with the scent and taste of it. Castiel ravages his brother's mouth like a starving man coming across his favorite meal, suddenly taking control of the kiss as he pushes Gabriel onto his back, pinning him down like Dean had many, many times before, brutally fucking his mouth with his tongue while Gabriel hisses and arches and whines, trying to win back dominance and failing.

Dean smiles as he watches his Angel become an animal, and fall prey to his darker instincts. He watches as Castiel treats Gabriel like Sam will treat him and how the Archangel just takes it like a perfect little bitch.

Castiel grabs hold of Gabriel's head, wrenching his brother and himself apart. His eyes are lust-black and blood drips out of his mouth back into Gabriel's where he'd bitten clean through his brother's lip to try and get at the taste of _Dean. _The Angel looks _murderous _with jealousy, his hand too tight in Gabriel's hair, making him arch too far back and the Archangel whines.

"Please, Cas…" he moans, tendons throbbing in his neck, and Castiel snarls lightly, leaning down and pressing his lips against Gabriel's throat, where its softest and the Archangel is at his most vulnerable.

"You don't deserve it," he hisses against the Archangel's neck. "You haven't earned the _right, _you filthy _slut. _You don't _belong _to him."

Dean almost comes at how black Castiel's Grace swirls, his hand traveling over his cock suffocatingly tight and fast, twisting along the head, but it would be much more satisfying to come in Castiel's mouth or his ass.

"Castiel," he calls, voice too light for the situation, and the Angel's head snaps up immediately, blood around his mouth and his eyes almost demon-black. "Come here." Castiel is there immediately, kneeling between his legs, lips parted already as he pants against the skin of Dean's thigh. The demon takes a hold of the back of Castiel's head, fingers knotting in his hair as he guides Castiel's head down onto his cock, making the Angel swallow him down whole. Dean hisses as Castiel swallows around his cock, muscles of his throat tight and wet and _warm, _covered in blood when Dean pulls out and flooded with saliva when he thrusts back in, and the demon moans, losing himself in his Angel's perfect mouth. He thrusts a few more times into Castiel's mouth before he pulls out all the way, jacking himself a few more times before he comes all over Castiel's face, marking him up with his seed so the Angel's pale skin is marked with paler ropes of come, over his nose and perfect lips and even in his hair, across his eyelashes. He looks like a perfectly painted little whore, with that splash of red and swirling black to make him look even more beautiful, and Dean smiles, petting through his hair, rubbing the come into his skin.

"Good boy."

* * *

Dean changes the entire dungeon. It is no longer a small, cold brick and cement cell. It is wide and spacious, with one lower level and stairs leading up to a second, higher platform. There's not a chain or instrument of restraint in sight, and there's thick white carpet on the floor that feels soft and warm against the Angels' bare feet. The walls are painted a mix of red and warm cream and the temperature jumps several degrees to a pleasant coolness. There's only one bed and it dominates the second platform, large and wide and the sheets are satin-soft. At the top of the landing is a door that leads to a luxurious bathing area, and it's there Dean orders the Angels to go. "Clean yourselves up," he says, smiling as he pets through Castiel and Gabriel's hair. "You're ready now."

* * *

"Sammy, I have news," Dean says, sauntering into the Boy King's quarters and wrapping his arms around Sam's shoulders from behind, purring into his mate's neck as Sam straightens from where he'd been looking over army movements and studying battle plans for the upcoming war, and turns to look at Dean, smiling indulgently as he pets through Dean's soft hair.

"Yes?" he asks, smiling a little wider when Dean's tongue presses against his jaw, to the sensitive part underneath Sam's ear, licking and biting a little mark there. "What is it?"

"You're not going to like it," Dean warns, his hands sliding down Sam's bare torso teasingly, nails dragging just a little and leaving little red imprints behind before he palms Sam's hard cock, squeezing like the teasing little whore he is, his mouth still busy at Sam's neck. "The Archangel is ready for you Sammy, ready for your seed."

"That doesn't sound like bad news at all, Dean, why wouldn't I like that?" the Boy King asks, his eyes already sliding into their yellow filter as he thinks about having that dominant creature on his knees, begging for his cock, bearing his powerful child. He reaches back, pulling at Dean's short hair as his brother and mate palms his cock, rubbing the heel of his hand against his hard shaft, earning a low moan from Sam.

"You…you just need to trust me on this, Sammy. Can you do that for me?" Dean asks, hesitant because Sam has an infamous temper and he doesn't want to be on the receiving end of it – Sam has been very kind to him lately and he likes it when Sam's in a good mood with him. "You have to be gentle. He's only recently become compliant and you can't…be as rough as you are, with him." He has to back away abruptly when Sam stands up to face him, and there's fear in Dean's eyes but he doesn't let go – plasters himself to Sam's body, and slides down so his face is level with the bulge in Sam's jeans. His fingers tremble a little as he works to undo the button and fly of Sam's jeans, freeing his hard cock. "Cas and I will be there, and if you want to get rough, please use me, but not him."

"Could you not break him completely?" Sam asks in a hard tone, jaw clenching when Dean starts jerking him off, his brother's breath warm on the head of his cock, and his hips thrust forward a little without his permission.

"Sammy…I…" Dean looks down, ashamed with what he's about to admit, but then meets his brother's eyes again. "Please. Just don't fuck him like you fuck me. Don't fall in love with him."

And Sam almost laughs, because it's so like Dean to be a hormonal, pussied little bitch. He runs his hand through Dean's hair, fingers curling at the back of Dean's neck as he slides his cock forward, and his brother is a good boy, opening his mouth around him obediently, sucking him down like his life depends on it. "Stupid boy," he growls, laughing when Dean's eyes flash up at him, viridian and agonized. "Why would I want anyone other than you? Your insecurities were endearing, but now they are just starting to annoy me Dean," Sam says, thrusting deep enough into Dean's mouth that his brother chokes. "Unless you've taught him to give as good a blowjob as you give, to spread his legs as eagerly as you spread yours, and to fucking _beg _for my cock like a two-dollar whore, like you do, I'm not interested."

Dean moans around Sam's cock, tears pricking at the corners of his beautiful jade eyes, and he eagerly swallows down every drop of Sam's seed when his brother stiffens and comes, holding his head down so it's a choice between breathing or swallowing. The older demon gasps when he pulls off of Sam's spent cock, licking Sam clean while his brother recovers, the rough of his tongue too much stimulation for the Boy King, who steps away.

"Come on, Dean, we have Angels to fuck," he says, holding his hand out, and Dean swallows, forces a smile, and stands. Sam pulls him close, tracing the curve of his face from temple to chin, lifting Dean's face to his. "Never doubt my love for you, Dean." Then, Sam lets him drop, and stalks out of the room with no doubt that Dean will follow like an obedient little lap dog.

* * *

If Sam has anything to say about the lavish apartment Dean created, he doesn't say it. Dean went ahead of him to get things ready, and when Sam enters the room Castiel and Gabriel are waiting on the bed, and Dean's standing at the top of the stairs, smiling at Sam as the Boy King closes the door behind him.

Gabriel watches as Dean trembles at Sam's approach, and his heart stills a little in fear. This man he calls Master _fears _this man, _desires _him so much, and it makes Gabriel's Grace roll in anxiety, because if _Dean _is afraid of this man then Gabriel should be downright terrified.

"That is Sam," Castiel whispers in his ear from behind, where he is stroking Gabriel's wings, trying to relax him, his other hand deep in Gabriel's hole, stretching him open for Sam's cock. The Archangel lets out a needy little whimper when Castiel's fingers crook just perfectly, expertly perfectly, and hit his prostate, making his collar glow. Castiel shushes him. "Sam doesn't like a lot of noise, Gabriel – you have to be quiet."

The Archangel is afraid, and he backs away from the demon as Sam turns glowing yellow eyes on him, but Castiel's hold keeps him in place and then Dean is suddenly there, stroking a hand through the sensitive lower feathers.

"'S just Sammy, pretty," the demon purrs, nuzzling into Gabriel's mouth until the Archangel opens up for him, but Dean doesn't kiss him – just lets him hang, panting against Dean's face. "Sammy's gonna take care of you now."

Then, Dean licks his way past Gabriel's mouth, down his neck and shoulder, and then right into Castiel, and he pulls his own pet away, pinning the Angel down onto the bed beside his brother, who lays back submissively when Sam approaches him. The demon's eyes are appraising as they take in his ruffled, recently cleaned hair, his golden feathers that are dark with dampness of fresh water, and his vessel-shape which trembles and glistens with a layer of sweat that came from Castiel working him up for hours before Dean and Sam arrived. His cock lies hard and flushed against his belly, his hole stretched and his legs shakily, eagerly spread, and Sam smiles a little, his eyes flicking to Dean in appreciation of his brother's skills.

Gabriel arches his wings up in invitation, and the golden-brown feathers rustle with every movement, and then Sam's kneeling on the bed between Gabriel's legs, extending his muscular body over the Archangel's as he slides in without a hitch, and Gabriel arches, hissing out a low whine.

The demon is burning him. Sam's cock feels like a flame and it _hurts, _fuck does it hurt. His Grace rolls and rebels at the evilness inside of his body, and when Sam begins to thrust it feels like he's being torn up from the inside. Gabriel cries out loudly, unable to stop himself and Dean and Castiel freeze, the demon buried in his own Angel's ass, before he looks at Castiel with wide eyes and jerks his head towards Gabriel. Castiel nods, understanding the order.

Dean pulls out of Castiel, lets him reposition himself on his hands and knees, at the same time Castiel silences his brother with his mouth, sealing his lips over Gabriel before his noises could get them all killed. Gabriel's a whimpering, writhing mess, his face salty and wet with tears as Sam tears at him, hands leaving deep furrows in his sides and Dean frowns, biting his lip, because Sam can't _hurt _Gabriel. Can't maim him or in any way make him want to hurt himself to get rid of the child. He pulls out of Castiel again, ignoring his own throbbing erection, and then slides his body next to Sam's, pulling his hands away and onto his own torso.

Sam's eyes turn sharply to him as he stills his rapid thrusts, making Gabriel whimper into his brother's mouth. "To me, Sammy, to me," Dean murmurs, talking to his brother like Sam is a skittish animal, and straddles his brother's lap, letting Sam fuck into him with no prep or stretch, and Dean hisses at the dryness, how fucking good it feels when Sam fucks him like this. Sam claws at him like a savage beast, biting down at Dean's neck and sucking at his blood. Both of the Angels moan at the scent of Dean's blood filling the room, heavy and intoxicating.

When Sam's gentled slightly from digging deep gouges into his stomach, Dean slides off of his brother's lap though it kills him to do it, and lets Sam get back to fucking into Gabriel harshly. The Archangel is whining pitifully, saline burning the air at the scent of tears, and Dean rests a hand soothingly over Gabriel's stomach, and thinks he can even feel the slide of Sam's huge cock into Gabriel's ass as the Boy King sprints towards his finish line.

It's over quickly – it usually is with Sam. He doesn't have time to mess around like Dean and just play with his toys all day. He stills with a low harsh growl against Dean's throat because he still hadn't moved his mouth away, filling the Archangel up with his seed and Gabriel whimpers into his brother's mouth because it _stings. _It fucking _burns_. His wings shudder at the feeling of it.

Dean feels like he's sprinted a marathon, so turned on beyond belief when Sam pulls out of Gabriel and places a light kiss to the back of Dean's neck, and then he's gone. Dean can't help himself – Sam stretched him wide open but now he feels empty. He needs to be fucked, God-damnit, right now. He needs to feel the warm heaviness of Sam's seed inside of him. Sam's the only one that can do that to him. Unbidden, his eyes flicker to Castiel, and he smiles a slow Cheshire cat smile. Castiel swallows, catching his Master's eye.

Dean hovers over Gabriel, healing the wounds Sam dealt him and then mojo-ing up a plug which he pushes into Gabriel's ass to keep Sam's come inside of him, growling that Gabriel better not fucking take it off, that he should be fucking grateful to have even this much of Sam, and then snaps his fingers and Gabriel disappears, back to his room, because this is for _Castiel, _the favorite. He pulls his Angel close to him, purring against his neck like a mountain lion might scent at a baby deer, smells that purity and arousal and fear on his prey's skin.

"Castiel," he says, the name half like a prayer and half like a question, and the black-winged Angel shivers a little. "If you could have anything from me, what would it be?"

The Angel knows it's a trick question, can see the trap like a demon's soul, but he sighs against Dean's neck, whimpers at the blood he finds there, and wraps his arms around Dean's waist, trembling slightly.

"Answer me, Cas," Dean says with a little hardness in his voice, absently rubbing his hard cock along Castiel's thigh.

The Angel whimpers, eyes falling closed. "To be an equal," he murmurs against the sweat-and-sulfur tang of Dean's skin, hating himself for a moment because he _knows _that's not what Dean expected him to say, but the demon already knows the answer to that. _Love; _Dean only asks a question when he wants an honest answer, and if that's what comes out of Castiel's mouth, who is he to stop himself speaking his mind?

The demon chuckles, and pushes Castiel down onto the bed, onto his back. "Maybe you'll have that," he says cryptically, sliding back into Castiel's tight ass as he settles between the Angel's legs, and Castiel moans, arching his back, knowing that Dean fully intends for him to bear another child, as soon as is physically possible. It doesn't…feel like the right time yet, but Castiel isn't ever going to reject one moment of Dean's affections. Ever.

Dean's hands are gentle for the first time in a long time, lazy almost, exploring parts of Castiel he mapped out a long time ago and never bothered to navigate again. He rediscovers how sensitive his Angel is to a swift, soft little bite along his flank, and how sucking a bruise onto his collarbone with drive him crazy, make him slick with sweat, and how a kiss against the tendon in his neck will have him begging, writhing for Dean.

"Don't come yet, sweetheart…hold out for a moment," Dean says, rocking into Castiel lazily, and his orgasm is almost like an afterthought. The Angel is terrified, feeling Dean fill him up, because what if he does conceive? What if he loses this one too? Dean's mood is so complacent and mellow that it's throwing Castiel completely off-balance and he doesn't know what to do.

His arousal is painful and gets even more so when Dean wraps a hand around him, twisting his hand with no pressure at all, and it's maddening. Castiel arches his hips up, trying to get closer to that cliff-edge and hurl himself right off it, and then he chokes, because Dean's speaking again now.

"I want you to fuck me, Cas," the demon purrs, his eyes flaring black. "Fuck me and fill me up. Then we'll see who's the equal."


	9. Balance

**Title: **Balance  
**Author: **HigherMagic  
**Pairings:** Demon!Dean/Castiel, mentions of Demon!Dean/Demon!Sam  
**Rating:** NC-17  
**Word Count:** ~ 3000  
**Spoilers: **None (This is AU)  
**Summary:** It's breaking point on the tip of the knife.  
**Notes/Warnings:** Lots of bloody, gory, evil boys doing stuff to each other.  
Unbeta'd. All mistakes are my own.

* * *

For one brief, agonizing moment, all the Angel can do is stare up into his demon lover's black, soulless eyes, watch as Dean takes in his expression, his darkly swirling Grace, and smirks, a look of pure carnal, visceral pleasure on his face.

"You like that idea, Cas?" he purrs, leaning down and husking the liquid sin into the Angel's ear, his fist still maddeningly loose around Castiel's hard cock as he pumps him slowly, to the half-beat of Castiel's racing heart. "Like the thought of owning me? Fucking me deep so that I'm screaming for your cock and begging you to fill me up. Bet you taste so good Cas, bet you feel so good, learning all your tricks from me…" The Angel makes a choked little half-whine, because the demon's driving him crazy and it almost brings tears to his eyes, the fractured ecstasy of what Dean's suggesting.

He wants Dean, but not as a fuck. Not as what the demon's asking him to be. For a split second Castiel's indecision wavers and then falls to the ground when Dean strokes his own revived shaft, growling into the Angel's ear; "Want it, Cas. Want you to fill me up. Might even get me pregnant – would you like that? Like marking me up and seeing how something of yours is inside me? Hmm?"

And it's cruel, a cruel trap – Dean knows it's cruel, because if demons could conceive then Gabriel and Castiel would be fucking all of them, making all of them pregnant. But it's just the Angels that can bear the children – the demons are too evil outside of human hosts, wouldn't be able to support something made of Grace.

Dean gets impatient with him and pulls him upright. "Come on, sweetheart, I'm not going to wait forever. Tell me how you want me." And then, he slants his mouth over Castiel's, stealing the Angel's breath away. Dean's hands reach up, and before Castiel realizes what he's doing, the demon's clawing at his own neck, splitting skin and making his fingers wet with blood. He smirks with black eyes when Castiel's Grace _flares _for him, and for a split second the Angel's eyes darken. "Drink, sweetheart. Claim your reward for being so good."

Castiel wants to sing praises to Dean for being so kind, and he ends up moaning his gratitude into the demon's neck, holding Dean closer than he's ever dared to before and biting at the demon, opening his neck up for Castiel's tongue and teeth, more harsh then he's ever been allowed to be. Dean moans wantonly, tilting his head back so he bares his throat more, and Castiel growls, feeling his blood sing with power.

The Angel pulls away when he needs air and then pushes at Dean, surprised and pleased when the demon goes without fighting. In fact, Dean is smirking when Castiel pushes him onto his knees, grabs Dean's hands and places them above the demon until Dean takes the initiative and grabs onto the slats of the bed's headboard.

Dean growls low in his throat, purring when Castiel's hard cock brushes against the valley of his ass. He mewls and rocks back. "Mmm… Cas…"

The Angel buries his face in Dean's neck, breathing hard against the demon's sweaty skin, his own body trembling with the excitement and anticipation because he _can't _believe the demon's letting him do this, to _have _him so completely and it's…it's crazy. His hands run down Dean's muscular arms, watching with something approaching wonder as they tense, ticklish, when he reaches Dean's sides. Castiel pulls away slightly, licking down the back of Dean's neck and to his spine.

He wishes the demon had wings. Wishes that he could show Dean just how good it feels when Castiel's touched there. He sucks a mark onto Dean's shoulder blade, his hands curling into the last two ribs of Dean's ribcage for leverage as he slowly rocks against the demon's ass, getting a little friction. It's not nearly enough but Castiel can be patient when he wants to be, and he wants Dean to remember this, to feel this. He wants to burn this night (day?) into Dean's memory forever.

Castiel teeth turn savage for a moment, biting through the demon's thinly-stretched skin over the bone, sinks down until he can taste Dean's shoulder blade, hidden underneath blood that he laps at like a kitten at milk. Dean shudders, hands clenching tightly around the slats of the headboard, eyes closed as he buries his face in his forearms, stifling his sounds.

Can't be having that – Castiel _snarls _against Dean's shoulder, biting down more harshly until Dean gasps, bucking against him, tossing his head. The demon's blood is singing, racing inside of the Angel and Castiel feels powerful. He feels like a whole new creature with the power of an Angel and demon both and it makes his mind clear, almost crystalline in its clarity and lucidity. There's a haze of lust in his mind, the distant throb of his own arousal, but his priorities are changed a little – he wants to take Dean apart first.

After all, it's only good manners.

"Don't muffle your sounds from me, Dean," he breathes, trailing his fingers through his most recent bite and the demon shivers as he wets his fingertips and begins to draw on Dean's spine, behind his heart. It's a symbol of love and possession and Dean shudders bodily when Castiel completes it, drawing the last part of the sigil and the Angel almost smirks, dragging his nails down Dean's sides and to his stomach. The demon hisses a little, arching away from the touch and Castiel's fingers touch Sam's marks.

He growls and flips Dean onto his stomach, anger and jealousy in his eyes when he sees the claw marks Sam left behind. He leans down, cleanses them with his tongue, and licks up the sluggish blood flow from the edges that hadn't healed yet.

"You like it when he does this to you?" Castiel growls, half-incredulous, half-curious, because Castiel can understand how demons use pain as an abstract, twisted sort of affection. He's been on the receiving end of Dean's many times – demons inflict pain so that they can heal it, and soothe it away with pleasure and the promise of more pleasure if you behave. Pain means they love you.

Dean shudders a breath, his eyes closed, and then they fly open when Castiel nips his stomach where the first scratch begins, right where Dean's ribs end and the flesh becomes softer and more easily damaged. His hands fly to Castiel's hair and the Angel takes his wrists, pointedly forcing Dean's hold back down to the bed. The demon's cock twitches at being held down and Castiel smirks again.

"Answer me, Dean," he demands softly. "Do you like it when Sam hurts you, makes you bleed like this?"

"Yes," Dean answers after a moment, swallowing, and Castiel 'hmm's a little against the demon's hip, nuzzling into the warm skin before he licks down to Dean's hard cock, licking up a line straight up the vein, and Dean hisses, his body rolling in a long arch. "Fucking _tease, _Cas."

The Angel 'hmm's again. "Tell me," he continues lightly, still reeling from the fact that Dean is _letting _him do this, letting him get away with this. Even if he gets punished it would so be worth it. "Do you like it because it hurts, or because it's Sam hurting you?"

The demon's brow furrows and he lifts his head. "What do you mean?"

"I mean," Castiel replies absently, licking again at the base of Dean's cock, hands tightening around the demon's wrists to keep him down as he nuzzles lower, sucking at Dean's sac and balls lightly. "If _I _did this to you, would you enjoy it so much?" His breath is warm when he speaks over Dean and the demon shudders lightly, fists and jaw clenching in equal measure.

"Fucking _tease, _Cas," he repeats in a non-answer, and growls when Castiel sucks him into his mouth, going throat-deep immediately and swallowing around Dean's cock. He flashes his eyes up at Dean from under thick black lashes, practically smirking when the demon hisses at the sight, hands trying to fight Castiel's hold but the Angel's in control now, and he's strong and his wings arch high over his back, flaring with the power of Dean's blood flying through his body.

The Angel's head bobs up and down on Dean's cock, tongue working all the hotspots that he learned long ago, nostrils flared to take in air as he breathes around Dean, feeling the demon's cock thicken for a moment before he's coming down Castiel's throat, and Castiel withdraws so that he doesn't instinctively swallow – keeps it in his mouth, because he'll need it.

He smirks at Dean and before the demon's even come down from his orgasm, Castiel has him on his stomach again, ass raised and legs spread to make room for him. Dean fists the sheets, moaning like a two dollar whore when Castiel's tongue circles his hole, fingers spreading his ass apart to make room, and the demon cries out hoarsely when Castiel slides his tongue inside, slick and wet with come and saliva.

Dean's still a little loose but Castiel still needs to stretch him slightly. He can taste blood and knows Sam would have ripped him open, fucking him dry and as brutally as he did. His Grace flares in protective anger that the Boy King had hurt his mate, but Dean doesn't seem to mind his method of soothing the pain away as Castiel licks his way inside, sliding a finger in alongside his tongue when he feels Dean can take it, using it to spread Dean a little wider so he can lick inside.

The demon's a wanton, writhing mess, because Castiel is a _slutty _little thing and seemed to learn things Dean didn't even teach him, and he pushes back onto Castiel, fingers tearing through the sheets on the bed as he whimpers, body coming alive under the semi-affectionate touches. It's not like this with Sam – Sam's all urgency and brutality and blood, and while that's a turn-on also, this is a whole new level. This is _savoring _and sensation and Dean's honestly a little terrified of the direction his thoughts are going, so he growls and shoves them aside.

"Fuck, Cas, just fuck me already," he snarls, turning his body so that he can see the Angel kneeling between his legs, most of Castiel's body hidden by his own thigh and the Angel's giant curving wings which are surrounding Dean's lower half, caressing him with silken feathers. Dean grabs at the top of one of them, pulling harshly and Castiel gasps against him, moaning involuntarily which in turn makes Dean shudder, and the demon growls, squeezing the wings to emphasize his point. "Come _on. _Need to feel you. Need it."

The Angel can't resist Dean begging for him. Never had to deal with it so he has no defenses for it. He feels the demon's effect on him like a disease, eating at his Grace, changing him into something that isn't entirely demonic, isn't human and isn't Angelic. His Grace swirls black and, for a moment, so do his eyes.

"Okay, Dean, okay," he says, straightening and lining himself up. He pets down Dean's spine, tracing over that bloody sigil as he thrusts in slowly, biting his lip as he savors the delicious stretch and clench of Dean's muscles around him. The demon certainly knows what he's doing – he rocks back at the perfect angle to Castiel, forcing the Angel as deep as he can go and he clenches, trying to force Castiel inside him, as deep as he can go and he's making himself _so tight, _and it's so _hot _and so good…

Castiel whimpers, digging his fingers into his own wing as it drapes across Dean's back, trying to ground himself in the pain but he's taught himself to love pain just as much as pleasure and it doesn't work. His orgasm is building and he squeezes himself around the base to stop it, gasping brokenly at the ebb-and-flow feeling, forehead falling against Dean's back, sweaty and trembling.

The demon pushes up, supporting Castiel and his own weight easily, and he's on his hands and knees now, rocking back against the Angel with broken little moans, crying out how good Castiel feels, how he feels so hot and thick and perfect inside of him, how good it's gonna be when Castiel comes and feels him up.

It's too soon for Dean to get hard again so Castiel doesn't even try. There's no finesse about the way he fucks Dean, just pleasure on both ends because Dean fits like a fucking _glove, _and Castiel wants to erase Sam's influence from him as much as he can. He reopens the bite on Dean's neck, takes the blood and remakes the sigil that was marred from the demon's sweat, and presses his lips to the center of it, marking Dean as his own even if Angelic sigils have no power here.

Dean moans louder than he does when Castiel comes, the demon giving a whole-body shudder-arch and purring like a contented cat, arms stretching out in front of him as his shoulders dip under Castiel's weight. The Angel pants against Dean's neck, shuddering through his orgasm, so powerful after being denied for so long, and so overwhelmed with sensation that shatters the lucidity the blood gave him, returns his Grace to a random swirl of black and white and returns his mind to a subservient creature. He pulls out with a hiss, watching some of his come leak out of Dean's stretched hole and can't help himself – he leans down, determined to taste as much of Dean as he can while the demon is feeling indulgent, and he seals his lips around the demon's ass, noticing that Dean mewls at the sensation.

He can taste his own come and the natural flavor of Dean and he moans at it, because it tastes like the best combination of flavors ever, especially with the aftertaste of Dean's own come that Castiel used to lube him up. The Angel pulls away and then plasters himself over Dean who's laying half on his side, staring at Castiel with hooded eyes and a self-satisfied expression.

Dean controls the kiss when Castiel initiates it, tongue-fucking his Angel like he never lost his power, like he was always the one in control. Perhaps he was, but Castiel doesn't mind, especially when his mate's hands card through his feathers, pulling a few of them the wrong way deliberately, and Castiel whines gently, nuzzling as close to Dean as he can get and the demon's too tired to think that he really should be pushing him away.

"Did you enjoy that, sweetheart?" he asks with a dry chuckle when Castiel pulls away, still dazed and lust-black-eyed. Castiel can only nod, swallowing because now Dean's got that expression he has when he's about to kill something, and the demon cards his fingers through Castiel's hair. "How was that for being an equal?"

Castiel doesn't know how to answer Dean, so he doesn't – he just licks his lips and doesn't shy away when Dean takes his chin in his hands, lifting his head so the demon can get a better look at him.

After a long, unblinking moment, Dean says; "I'm going to take you topside." Castiel's brow furrows, confused because it's not often demons leave Hell to go 'topside' and Dean doesn't usually go there, preferring to stay in Hell with his playthings. "We need more Angels, pretty, and you're going to be bait," Dean says with a smile, and Castiel's face smoothes in understanding. "How would you like that, sweetheart?"

"Just you and I?" Castiel asks, still unbelieving that Dean would continue to be so kind to him – he suspects a trap but he honestly can't understand what could happen if he went with Dean to help catch Angels. Being bait is a dangerous job, yes, but he trusts the demon will take care of him. Or, if he is to die or get injured, then it's what Dean wants of him and he will carry out his duty gladly.

The demon nods, continuing to pet through Castiel's hair. "Yep. Just you and me and the Angels." Dean pulls Castiel forward, sliding his tongue easily into the Angel's mouth and Castiel shudders at the taste of come and blood. "And then, when we've got them back down here, you're going to help me. Like you helped me with your brother. Can you do that, sweetheart?"

He answers without hesitation; "Anything for you, Dean."

The demon's eyes slide into green and Castiel sucks in a breath. It's the first thing he fell in love with about Dean – the eyes are the windows to the soul and when the demon shows his humanity in those jade depths Castiel thinks he's never seen anything more beautiful. Gabriel doesn't understand but he will – Castiel's demon is beautiful and perfect and the Angel doesn't care if it's not true to the world because it's true to him.

Dean smirks and the flash of humanity is gone, but it's enough to renew Castiel's devotion. Dean knows just how to play him. "I was hoping you'd say that."


	10. Judas Horse

**Title: **Judas Horse  
**Author: **HigherMagic  
**Pairings:** Demon!Dean/Demon!Sam, allusions to Dean/Alistair, Dean/Fallen!Castiel  
**Rating:** NC-17  
**Word Count:** ~ 3400  
**Spoilers: **None (This is AU)  
**Summary:** It's breaking point on the tip of the knife.  
**Notes/Warnings:** Lots of bloody, gory, evil boys doing stuff to each other.  
Unbeta'd. All mistakes are my own.

* * *

Dean is in the torture room with Adam and Alistair when Sam comes to find him. One moment he's crouched over the trembling soul, knife ready to dig between his vertebrae as Alistair has been teaching him, and the next he's pinned up against a wall, Sam standing in the doorway with his arm outstretched, fingers splayed wide open. Dean can feel his fingertips against his heart, suffocating him and tightening around the suddenly racing organ.

"Sam -." He chokes when Sam's hand tightens, eyes glowing yellow and murderous, his upper lip curling back in a snarl as he begins to choke Dean, a ghostly hand around the other demon's neck tightening, tightening…. Dean sputters and struggles, trying to fight the strong hold that's not even there, but his powers are next to nothing against Sam's and he stops after a moment.

The Boy King snarls, eyes flaring between black and yellow so fast it makes Dean dizzy – his little brother is _pissed. _"Leave us," he snaps to Alistair, who bows and takes his leave, a small sort of smirk on his face like he knows exactly what's about to happen and plans to hear it in excruciating detail from the last occupant and only witness to what's about to go down – Adam.

"You _whore," _Sam growls finally, still holding a shaking arm out to Dean, keeping him pinned against the burning walls of Adam's torture chamber. "You _fucking _good-for-nothing _slut." _Sam's so angry that he can't even speak – can't think. Slowly, his hand begins to tighten and Dean starts choking, gasping and feeling like he's about to throw up. Black smoke spews out of his mouth as his head lolls, his soul being forced out of the human shape he takes in Hell.

Sam lets him fear death for a while – lets him think he's going to kill Dean because honestly he's thinking about it – he's had enough of Dean's disloyalty and his sleeping around. He lets his hand drop, lips curled in a derisive sneer as he steps forward towards the gasping demon. Dean has tears leaking from underneath his closed eyelids, so human in his fear and panic, and when Dean looks up at his mate, it's with anxious, beautiful jade eyes.

Sam crouches down and Dean cowers away, but the Boy King takes his mate's chin in hand and forces their eyes to meet. Dean blinks, shies away when Sam leans in and inhales, snarling against his temple and he pushes Dean onto his back, tearing at the demon's clothing until Dean is naked, and runs his nose down Dean's chest, inhaling all the while like an animal scenting his mate to see if she's in heat. The scene would have a kind of animalistic passion to it if Dean weren't still trembling with fear, the feeling of his soul pouring out of his mouth still fresh in his mind. Sam's angry – angrier than Dean's ever seen him – and the older brother shakes at what that could mean for him.

He looks up when Sam reaches between his legs, two fingers shoving into him with no preamble, and his whimper is a higher harmony to Sam's bass growl.

"Do you know what people do to animals that can't stop fucking and procreating?" Sam asks, the low thrum of violence in his voice almost like a physical weight in the air, keeping Dean down, paralyzed with fear as Sam's fingers slide into him, feeling how loose he still is and the come that's still inside of him. "They get them fixed. Castrate them." Sam bites down savagely on the inside of Dean's thigh, making his older brother cry out before he can stop himself, and bites down until he reaches bone, jerking his slightly-too-sharp teeth back so that he takes flesh with him. "That's what we do to whores too, Dean. We get them fixed so they don't go fucking anything that walks like a fucking bitch in heat. Whose come is this, Dean?"

Sam trails blood-slick lips along Dean's cock, and the older Winchester chokes again at the thought that Sam might actually just…tear it off. He could do it – he's strong enough to do it and Sam might just be angry enough. After all, Sam doesn't need Dean's dick to fuck him. He just wants the hole. Dean whimpers.

But he doesn't answer. Sam growls again.

"Answer me, Dean, right the fuck now," Sam demands, standing so he's towering over Dean, muscles quivering with pent up anger and aggression, and it's been a long time since Dean was legitimately afraid of his brother beyond the mild adrenaline rush that came with a bit of rough handling. No, this is bone-shaking fear now. Fear of death.

Dean searches his mind quickly – he knows whose it is, but Dean doesn't want Sam to take Castiel away. Dean likes the Angel – he's a good, pretty little plaything and Dean put a lot of time and effort into him. He doesn't want that to go to waste. Besides, he needs his Angel for his plans later. Dean will smell of the Angel and of his human toys, but Sam might see that as just his regular playing. He has to think fast.

"Alistair," he finally says, and Sam's eyes narrow, looking him over like he could tell if Dean was lying just from his eyes. No chances of that – Dean's so scared he doesn't even have a subconscious tell. Sam has no way of reading past that terror, and Alistair's already encroached one too many times. Dean would feel bad about framing his teacher…if he wasn't a demon.

Sam finally snarls. "This is the second time he has been forward towards you. It makes me wonder if you're inviting his attention, Dean."

"No, Sammy," Dean says, sitting up, feeling so exposed under Sam's penetrating gaze. "I didn't want him to. He caught me by surprise and I couldn't fight." Dean blinks, looking away, fists clenching. "I was weak and blind-sided and he took advantage."

Sam snarls again, kneeling down and pushing at Dean's shoulders until Dean's flat on his back. The force of it knocks the wind out of him and he lies gasping on the floor. "Fucking _liar," _Sam growls, covering Dean's body with his own, pinning Dean's arms above his head. "You know what I do to lying whores, Dean? I give them a taste of their own medicine." Dean shivers when Sam's lips go to his neck, biting down hard enough to shed blood which he laps at like a newborn kitten. "_Fuck, _Dean, do you even know how pretty you are? How many demons would fuck you given half the chance? How many of them _I'm _keeping at bay for you?" He bites down harder, punctuating the sentences with a thrust of his cock against Dean's ass once he pulls Dean's legs over his own, making his brother spread for him, leaning on his shoulders so he has no leverage. "But if you'd rather just be a whore I'm sure I can be more lenient – let them have their way with you over. And over. And over again."

When he pulls away from Dean's neck the demon feels like his throat's just been ripped out – he can't speak, can hardly breathe, and Sam's wearing his blood and his flesh on his face. Sam's eyes are glowing a brighter yellow than Dean's ever seen them, and he hisses, biting his lip when Sam thrusts into him, deeply, all the way, Dean's too-dry channel catching and tearing and flooding with blood.

He tries to say he doesn't want anyone but Sam, though that's not quite true anymore. Dean definitely wants to say he doesn't want to be 'given' to the masses. He doesn't want to be a bitch for the whole demon court. He doesn't want to be cast from Sam's bed. His eyes stay green and he tries to speak but every time he does he chokes on his own blood, feeling Sam's savage thrusts in his throat as his brother fucks into him as hard as he can, as though he could fuck the slutty behavior right out of Dean.

"No one will own you like I do, Dean," Sam growls, eyes flashing back to black for a moment as he leans up, bracing himself on his own arms and letting Dean's go. His head falls forward as he pants against Dean's torn-out throat, his hips snapping faster and faster as he sprints towards his release. "You are _no one else's. _This is the last time I will tell you that; do you understand?"

Dean chokes around a 'Yes', but Sam seems to understand anyway. He gives a low grunt and stills as he comes, and Dean bites his lip to stop himself hissing at the sting.

God's warriors were worried. The demons had not only managed to capture Gabriel (who had recently been discovered to be alive, though whether he was _still _alive after being caught remained to be seen) but now had Michael's third choice of a vessel. Lucifer's servants were getting stronger and if they were managing to capture and kill _Archangels, _then something had to be done. The garrison sent to rescue the Righteous Man had not survived. They were sending a second garrison.

Well, no actually. They weren't sending a garrison. They were sending _armies._ If the demons had managed to get Archangels then regular Angels weren't safe. The more fire power they had the more likely they were to succeed. Heaven was practically abandoned as Angels began to take vessels on Earth, almost half of the throng going to Earth and making their way to a Devil's Gate. Their mission was to either capture or kill the Winchesters. All of them. And, if possible and applicable, to find and rescue any surviving Angels.

They had split up, taking many Devil's Gates across the world and there was a garrison of half a dozen waiting near one in Wyoming when they came across an unexpected…well, change of plans.

* * *

Dean is subdued when he comes into his Angel's room, but nothing can really put much of a damper on his mood for long. He is going topside today and he is going to take Castiel. He is going to put the final nail in the Angel's coffin to make him fall; betraying his own kind.

And if Castiel doesn't pull through, well, then it's a shame, but that's what happens sometimes.

His ass hurts – after Sam had fucked him he'd practically torn him apart, shedding skin around all his major organs and pouring acid into them, making him drink it and then shoving a hose of scalding hot water up his ass 'to wash him clean'. It had hurt and even with his healing abilities Dean hadn't been able to walk properly for at least a couple of hours.

The Angel is ready to greet him with a blowjob, though, so that manages to put him in a better mood.

He cards his hand through Castiel's hair gently as he comes down, panting towards the ceiling before he looks down at the blue-eyed Angel and smiles a little, pulling Castiel up to stand. "Are you familiar with the 'Judas Horse' concept, sweetheart?" he asks, blinking black eyes down at Castiel and the Angel cocks his head, because of course he knows the figure who betrayed Jesus Christ, but does not know how to associate that with a horse.

He shakes his head and Dean sighs, pushing him down onto the bed after a moment, on his stomach and pushes his wings out, spreading them. He buries his hands into the soft downiness and notices that, for the first time in a long time, he hasn't had to order Castiel to show his wings. His Angel does so willingly. The thought makes him pause for a moment, an unease gathering inside him, but then he pushes it away, continued to pet Castiel.

"Horses are herd animals," he says as he stands, going into a corner of the room and grabbing some tools, heading back towards the bed. "When they run they'll follow the leader regardless of if that horse actually is in the herd or not. When they are panicked, anyway. Mustang catchers will train a horse that will lead a herd right into the corral." He pauses, waiting for Castiel to make the connection.

"You wish me to lead the Angels into a trap," he states blandly, no hesitance about it, and Dean smiles, nodding.

"Yep. You're going to go up to them, tell them you escaped and you've managed to catch one of them. One high up in the order…and you'll lead them right into a ring of Holy Fire."

Castiel nods, turning his head to look at Dean where the demon has returned to straddling his lower back, breath hitching a little at the predatory look in his mate's eyes. "I understand," he says, testing the water, and then watches with wide eyes as Dean takes out a serrated, double-edged blade, holding it up to the light so he can catch his reflection in the blade, and then he smiles down at the Angel.

Castiel wants to ask what Dean's about to do – he thought he'd been good, been loyal and rewarded for following Dean's orders, but then the demon's just coming back to hurt him. He's confused and afraid now and his wings shift, feathers ruffling in distress.

The demon shushes him gently, leaning forward so his lips are by Castiel's ear; "Have to make you look the part, sweetheart," he purrs right before the blades slices into the muscle next to Castiel's spine, and the Angel jerks and cries out, writhing to get away from the sensation. Dean takes a hold of one of his wings and pulls, ripping out a few feathers and shocking him into stillness. "You wanted to be good, didn't you Angel? Changing your mind now?" Dean growls, eyes sliding back into black again as his upper lip curls back in a snarl and he _twists _the blade, malicious with it now because he thought he was being _nice _to his Angel – letting him outside, letting him help Dean and help more of his brothers. "I don't have the patience to deal with you today if you're going to be like this."

Castiel gasps, tears building up behind his eyes and he closes them, swallowing and trying to get control of himself, even as Dean slides the blade out and then embeds it in his wing where the feathers are torn and he mewls in pain, shaking his head as though he can't believe it's actually happening. "Please, Dean…"

"Don't fucking talk to me like I owe you anything," the demon growls, the scent of Castiel's blood and pain like the best perfume and he smiles, mouth watering before he leans down and places a deceptively gentle kiss to his Angel's bleeding back. "You'll do your job – a fine job, sweetheart – and then you'll get another _reward." _

Castiel chokes on his shaky inhale, because since last night, 'reward' has taken on a whole new meaning, and he shivers to think of what Dean will give him if he does well. He's determined to do what Dean asks of him. Not because of a reward, or because it's what he's trained to do, but because it will make Dean happy and Castiel will do whatever it takes to make Dean happy.

* * *

Kushiel runs forward towards the staggering shape of her lost brother, catching Castiel as he falls. The Seraph looks like he's been through Hell – his Grace is almost black, swirling with a mix of green and white that is the last vestiges of his Holiness. It isn't much, but it's enough to help him.

"Castiel." He blinks up large, wide blue eyes, one of them almost swollen shut from a blow and one side of his face is covered in blood from a still-leaking cut on his forehead. Uriel kneels in front of him, holding his face in his hands, his Grace reaching forward to try and soothe his trembling brother. "Castiel, what happened?"

The Seraph breathes in shakily, clutching at Uriel. "Captured…Whole garrison. All of them dead. I made it to the Righteous Man but it was just me against hundreds and I was captured. Tortured." Castiel shakes his head, forcing his body to remember the torture as something painful and not proof of Dean's devotion, tries not to think of it with a longing, wistful sigh and a happy smile. Dean would be proud of his Angel's performance if he was there to see it. "Escaped. Ran through the Devil's Gate. Got followed but…" Then, he surges up, and the few Angels gathered at the state of him – he's unclothed, having not been given any before 'escaping' Hell, and his body is a mottled canvas of black, blue and yellow. He wouldn't be standing if he was human. Blood adds splashes of color against the sepia of his pale skin.

But his _wings…_

Tatters. Feathers are holding on by a thread and his right wing is almost ripped completely in half, the other hanging limp behind him because the nerves were severed to connect them, so he can't move it. Uriel tries to reach forward, his hand glowing with healing energy, but Castiel stops him.

"Don't waste your energy," he says, voice shaking, and he tries to play it off as pain and exhaustion instead of fear over Uriel discovering his secret, as he would if their Graces were to touch. "I've managed to trap several of the higher-up demons. The Boy King's mate and a few other powerful ones. Please, come with me and help me; I can't transport them on my own."

Then he's turning and running off. His brothers regard him with confusion and a little bit of distrust – after all, his Grace is so _black _– but then again…to capture Dean Winchester would be a great stepping stone in their mission. Not only Second in Hell, but also Michael's true vessel…yes, he truly is a prize. So they run after Castiel, following as the Seraph pushes open the doors to an old warehouse and rushes inside, waving them in after him. The way he has no fear going into the place is something they take heart in, seeing no reason to be anxious if the Seraph isn't, and they eagerly run into the warehouse after them.

As soon as the door closes the room is thrust into blackness. Kushiel gives out a cry of alarm, unsheathing her blade and specialist weapon – a flaming whip – and the rest follow suit.

A voice comes out of the blackness; "Ah, so lovely of you to join me." And then there's the click of a Zippo lighter, and a hand and part of a face is illuminated by the tiny flame. Dean's eyes flicker black and he smiles and drops the lighter, and the room goes up in flames. The Angels are surrounded in a ring of Holy Fire that is almost half the size of the warehouse, and as they watch, the circle completes itself, sealing them in.

Kushiel looks for Castiel and finds him at the demon's side, watching her watching him with his head cocked, eyes curious. She strides over to him, as close as she dares get to the flames and points her weapon at Dean.

"Strike him down, brother, and help us!" she cries, and Castiel looks between her and Dean, a curiously blank expression on his face. The demon meets his eyes, still black, still smiling, and Castiel returns it and looks back to Kushiel.

"Why on Earth would I do that?"

Dean laughs, and Castiel turns to him like a dog begging for affection from its master, looking for approval for a job well done. Dean strokes a hand down the side of Castiel's face and the Angel sighs, smiling as his wounds are healed away. Then, Dean takes his chin in hand, lifting his head up, and seals their lips together in a kiss. The Angels gasp as they watch, watch as Castiel doesn't fight, and how his Grace swirls like a maelstrom at the demon's touch.

They watch as Castiel's Grace turns completely black.

And, though his eyes are shut during the kiss, the Angels know that they've gone black too.


	11. Fallen

**Title: **Fallen  
**Author: **HigherMagic  
**Pairings:** Demon!Dean/Demon!Sam, Dean/Fallen!Castiel, Dean/Castiel/Sam, allusions to Dean/Alistair  
**Rating:** NC-17  
**Word Count:** ~ 3600  
**Spoilers: **None (This is AU)  
**Summary:** Castiel and Adam are ready now, and revenge is beautiful.  
**Notes/Warnings:** Lots of bloody, gory, evil boys doing stuff to each other. Remember that time is fluid in Hell and what can be a year in a single room could be a second in the next, or five hundred years in the next. It's very important in this chapter that you understand that. (:  
Unbeta'd. All mistakes are my own.

* * *

Castiel melts into his Master's kiss, mewling out a low sound of want as he presses closer, black Grace and black wings surrounding the demon, pulling him closer. Dean goes willingly, dominating and controlling the kiss but still allowing Castiel this little bit of freedom, petting through his plaything's feathers.

When they pull away, Castiel blinks his eyes open, and they're flat, matte black, to match Dean's, and the demon's breath catches because that's possibly the hottest thing he's ever seen in his life – his pet is ready. Ready to take up a new blade.

Dean smiles and looks towards the Angels trapped inside of ring of Holy Fire, trying to kill him with their gazes, and he pets through Castiel's hair one last time, pulling his pet's ear to his lips and husking the words; "Fuck, Cas, you look so hot," he growls. "Wanna have you right here, right in front of your brothers."

Castiel whimpers, curving his body closer, and his wings flare out. Dean catches on right before it brushes against the flames, and growls when one of the nameless Angels tries to reach forward, to drag Castiel into the destruction of the fire and is lit himself. His vessel crumbles and he burns with a scream, vanishing in a bright flash of light and only a pair of raven shadows of wings are left behind. Dean snarls again, angered that his profit has just taken a hit, and shoves Castiel away from the fire, unwilling to let something like that happen again.

"Summon the horde," he commands, and Castiel bows his head and scurries away, wings folded tightly to his back in shame.

* * *

A scream shatters the silence of their descent into Hell, and Dean raises a closed fist to command his company to halt. The demon's eyes slide into black and he inhales, picking up the scent of blood and sulfur and…power. He smiles.

"Sammy's playing," he says, and Castiel smiles at his mate after cocking his head slightly, giving just that edge of innocence that makes Dean's body feel warm and he can't wait to get his pet all to himself again, to fuck Castiel raw as demon and fallen Angel. He takes Castiel's hand and drags him forward, towards a fork in the tunnels where the walls are caked with grime and blood, and calls back to the company; "Take them to the Archangel's room, and then update me on his status. I'll return shortly."

They run towards Sam, Castiel folding his wings to his back and making them disappear so that he can keep up with Dean more easily, and the screams get louder, gargled on the end where someone is choking and trying to swallow back blood. Dean finds himself smiling, his body flushed at the idea of Sam playing again – it's been a long time since Sam had some relaxing time to himself and Dean wants to watch.

He's not exactly surprised at what he finds. After all, it's his fault.

Alistair. Chained to the rack they'd had Adam on. The changeling is nowhere to be seen, but Dean doesn't mind because his eyes are drawn to the demon on the rack, sizzling where his skin is touching rock salt and iron, the whites of his eyes showing as he writhes on the rack, body stretching, skin pulled taught from where he tries to escape Sam's onslaught.

_Sam. _The Boy King's eyes flash yellow and his skin glows like it's been oiled, bright in the flickering almost-light of Hell. He holds what looks like a jagged-edged scimitar in his hand, which curves sharply up and then backwards at the point to be almost like a hook, to dig into skin and jerk back, flaying it off. Sam's never been taught to torture – lacks the finesse that Dean and Alistair possess – but he makes up for that with fury. Cold, sharp, it burns in the room like gasoline, and Dean swallows.

Castiel's trembling beside Dean, his Grace whirling in anxiety, and Dean pets through his hair, shushes him and tells him to kneel on the boiling floor, and then approaches his brother.

"Sammy…" The younger Winchester whirls around, smiles at Dean – pleased at his appearance, covered in Angel blood where the catch was rowdy and had to be dealt with. Sam reached forward with the blade, digging the sharp point into the back of Dean's neck and pulls him forward, claiming Dean's lips in a bruising, dominant kiss that has the older demon moaning and clutching at his baby brother, grinding their hips together already. _Fuck, _but Sam's hot when he's hurting people. Dean pulls away when Sam lets him, giving a teasing little nip to Sam's lower lip, eyes hooded and smile playful, leering. "Whatcha doin'?"

Sam growls out, a harsh sound, and smiles with grim pleasure as he waves his blade towards the still-whimpering demon, and Dean can see that Alistair's essence burns and roils underneath the shredded skin of his meat suit, black and yellow around the edges. He can smell Alistair's fear and pain in the room along with Sammy's scent and it makes Dean shiver, especially when Sam leans down, lets the stubble of Dean's jaw scratch along his smooth one, and husks into his ear;

"Punishment."

The single word almost has Dean collapsing – he's so hard he can't stand it, and Sam is oozing power and sex and blood right now, and Dean _wants, _fuck does he _want. _"Punishment?" he repeats, stutters out, flickering black eyes over to Castiel, who's watching the brothers with black eyes and an expression that gives nothing away.

Sam nods, purrs his words against Dean's neck. "For touching what's not his to touch. Touching what's _mine," _he snarls, hooking his arm around Dean's waist and pulling the older demon towards the head of the rack. Alistair's head lolls to watch their progress, and Sam trails the tip of his blade over the creature's temple and down his neck. The edge is crusted with salt that didn't hurt Dean but burns Alistair. "Isn't that right, Master Torturer?" he says, the title dripping with derision and he sneers at Alistair, baring his teeth. "This is what happens when you don't learn to keep your greedy cock to yourself."

"He lies, my King," Alistair hisses, strains against his chains to try and reach to Sam, or possibly to attack Dean, but with the way he's tied down he can't – can only glare murderously at Dean. But Dean's confident – Sam believes his falsehood and he's too far gone to be talked down now. Alistair will die and Dean will be rid of unwanted attentions, and his pet will live another day. "He lies! I never touched him."

"I know for a fact that that is not true," Sam replies, digging the curved point into the last rib and dragging up, forcing bone to either snap or follow, and there are deafening cracks in the room as Alistair's cartilage collapses under the strain and the entire right side of his ribcage disconnects from spine and sternum. "You've kissed him, laid your hands on him, and touched him. Fucked him. Without permission or consent."

Away from Dean, by the door, Castiel whimpers and turns his head away. None of the demons take notice.

"And now you _dare _to tell me that he lies? I could smell him on you and I know your eye tends to stray. Well, no more." Sam smiles a beatific, _wrong _smile that makes Dean lick his lips and shudders to roll up his spine, before Sam reaches down, trails a possessive hand along Dean's thigh until he finds Dean's blade and grabs it, slides it out of Dean's clothing. The older demon closes his eyes and moans, feeling the touch on his blade like it's his very soul, because a demon's blade is a manifestation of themselves, just as Angel blades are for them as well. It feels like Sam is jacking him off, sliding his thumb along his shaft and, when Sam dips the tip of the blade into Alistair's eye sockets and starts prying, starts pulling, and Alistair screams again as his eyes come out, Dean bites his lip hard enough to draw blood, sure that he's going to come right now just watching Sam torture a demon with his blade.

He feels like an animal in heat, wants to rut up against Sam and get fucked, hard, fast, _right the fuck now. _There's a low whine in the back of his throat and it draws Sam's attention, and the Boy King smirks like he knows exactly what he's going – probably does.

"You like that?" he purrs, digging the knife in deeper until Dean can feel the tip of it slide along Alistair's skull, and the demon screams again, and Dean whimpers, lips parted as he pants, looking up at Sam with flushed cheeks and dilated pupils. But Sam's eyes aren't on him anymore, but Castiel – he's looking at the Angel with a thoughtful expression, and when he looks back to Dean, there's yellow-orange fire in his eyes.

He smiles. "Summon your Angel here, Dean," he purrs, and immediately Dean barks at Castiel to come over. Sam watches as Castiel practically falls over himself in an attempt to get to Dean's side, and he kneels by the demon's feet, leaning into the touch when Dean pets him, stroking through his hair forcefully enough to tilt Castiel's head back and bare his throat. "How did the mission go?"

Dean blinks for a moment, unable to believe that Sam would be willing to talk about _that _at a time like this, but his sighs and obeys the unspoken order to speak; "We captured four Angels today," he says. "One of them almost an Archangel, the smallest being at least a Seraph." He pets Castiel again and the Angel sighs, looking up at Dean with black-ringed eyes. "One of them died trying to kill Castiel, so we would have had one more." Sam nods, considering four out of five to be not bad at all. "And we managed to get them before they could communicate to their brethren, Cas tells me, so we should be able to pull that stunt again." Dean's grinning, proud of himself and Castiel for doing so fall, for falling so eagerly into Dean's arms.

Sam nods. "What are their names and ranks?" he asks, looking to Castiel again.

The Seraph hesitates before speaking, his wings trembling, black feathers ruffled before Dean scratches lightly behind his ear, like one would a _dog, _and he looks down, unwilling and unworthy to meet Sam's eyes. "Kushiel. Uriel. Anael. Balthazar. None of them are Archangels but Balthazar and Uriel are of a higher order than me. Kushiel is a strong battle leader and works with Michael on plans and war preparations. Anael is a Seraph, of my rank."

Sam snorts, amused. "They send me warriors," he scoffs, finally pulling out the blade from Alistair's skull, and the demon slumps to the rack, shaking and missing an eye that has lodged itself onto the tip of Dean's blade. Sam considers it for a moment, and then flicks it away, and Dean whimpers at the touch of his brother on his blade. "They send armies to Earth, amassing an attack on our Gates…" He pauses, considering the small amount of blood on the end of Dean's blade, and presses his lips to it, hearing his brother whimper before he slides his tongue along the sharp edge. Dean's trembling, watching. "But we have our tricks too. We have our warriors and our war plans, and we have _things _they cannot even fathom. Half-breeds, devil children, fallen Angels…" He smirks over at Castiel, then Dean. "They will fall. Unless all of Heaven comes, they will fall."

"If they send more Archangels, our numbers may not be enough," Dean says cautiously, biting his lip as Sam continues to lick at his blade, smiling at the influence he's having over his brother, his hand tight on the handle, stroking his thumb along the rough edge. Dean's hand tightens in Castiel's hair, trying to keep himself grounded, to keep himself from jumping Sammy right here.

Sam purses his lips, considering. "They only have two more," he says, turning back towards Alistair. "And they have no vessels for the one I fear most." Sam smirks at that, flashing his eyes to Dean. "Since you are here, and Adam is here, and Daddy dearest has escaped and gone to eternal rest God knows where…Michael has no vessel."

Dean frowns. "How do you know this?"

"Lucifer told me. He speaks to me and Azazel when there is time and we are inclined to hear." He traces a hand along Alistair's empty eye socket, coming back with blood, and then smiles, gesturing Dean to come closer. "Heaven is under the heel of our boot," he growls into his brother's ear, running Alistair's blood up and down Dean's blade before he lifts it to Dean's lips, sliding the knife through Dean's panting lips, making him clean it, and then licks it himself. Dean moans lowly at the subject and the sight – all of Heaven and Hell and everything in between under their control. Dean leans against the rack, needing the support because he feels weak in the knees, his body vibrating with the need to come. "We have hounds and souls and we hold all the cards. When Malachai is grown you shall train him, and Castiel will bear more children…if he's clean enough." He snorts again at the end of that line and Dean looks towards his Angel, seeing how his shoulders hunch and his Grace swirls at the derisive comment.

"No…we will not fail."

Dean nods, biting his lip as Sam continues to touch his blade, almost as though he doesn't realize he's doing it, still staring at the shuddering, whimpering demon on the rack, and then he lifts his hand, beginning to squeeze. Alistair's dark soul is a cloud of tiny particles that roll and shift together as it is forced out of his mouth by Sam's hand, the Boy King intent on destroying the demon for ever daring to touch his mate.

Dean likes to tell himself that he would have spoken up if his throat weren't so dry, but really he's a liar. Demons lie, don't they? Dean smiles when Alistair chokes, his essence forced out of his shape, and Sam growls, baring his teeth as the thing tries to struggle and resist, his hand tightening both around the soul and Dean's knife.

It's a huge turn-on, being a witness to Sam's power and influence, and Dean's mouth is watering, his body trembling, and he thinks he might just die when Sam grits out the single word 'Come', and Dean's world explodes into sensation of bright light and searing pleasure, coming untouched into his jeans like he hasn't done since he was alive and a teenager, however long that was ago.

Dean is just riding through the aftershocks when Sam finally destroys Alistair's soul for good, and Dean would say he feels remorse, but that would be a lie. He's just smirking and panting, coming down from an orgasm so strong that he tastes blood in his mouth and knows it's his own.

Then Sam's hand is in his hair, forcing him to his knees. "Make yourself useful," he snaps, and Dean moans, already half-gone again. He takes Sam into his mouth, gagging on the thick, hard length, and loses himself in his baby brother's touch, even more so when Sam also orders Castiel forward, and the two of them work Sam with their mouths until Sam comes down Dean's throat with a low groan.

* * *

"Gabriel!" Kushiel runs forward to embrace her lost brother, relief making her Grace flare brightly for a moment as she reaches out and wraps herself around Gabriel's essence. She almost sobs with joy when he reciprocates, and doesn't fight as Uriel, Balthazar and Anael all join with them, creating, for an instant, a perfect mass of bliss and peace.

Then Gabriel pulls away, both physically and in Grace, and his hazel-golden eyes are deadly serious. "We are all for dead," he says softly, looking down.

"We saw Castiel," Kushiel replies, biting her lip as she sits down in Gabriel's chamber, close to her brother and the rest fall in a semi-circle around Gabriel, looking to the ArchHerald for hope and guidance. "What happened, Gabriel?"

The Archangel shrugs. "When I arrived he was already half-fallen. His Grace was near-black sometimes, especially when that _demon _was around," he spits. "He loves him."

"We saw," Balthazar says, half-disgusted and half-sorrowful over what has befallen his beloved, loyal brother, who he had watched grow from a fledgling and had known was destined for great things. Not…this. "He's completely fallen, Gabriel. He led us into the trap."

"They get to you, the demons," Gabriel replies, having given no indication of having heard Balthazar. He looks away, flattening his hands over his slightly swollen stomach – God knows how much time has passed in here, but physically Gabriel is a few weeks along in his pregnancy. Enough to start showing, just slightly. "They…Father, they just _know. _It's like they can get inside your head and know just how to break you." He looks towards his brothers and sisters again. "I thought I was strong enough, guys. I want to be able to tell you that you'll be fine if you keep your head on straight, but you _won't, _because that's an impossible mission."

"Gabriel -."

Gabriel waves a hand at Uriel's protest. "It's true. First, they'll separate you, and you'll get a little one-on-one time with whoever it is you're going to have." He takes another deep breath. "And you'll fight it, and you'll try and be defiant, but you're weak here, cut off from Earth and Heaven, and you're going to be left alone for so long that you'll think any company is good company. You won't be able to feel each other because _we won't be there, _and you'll come to look for that demon, to hear his footsteps and long for his voice, and you'll learn that _they _control what you do, how you feel, and you'll figure out that when they take away the pain it's the best feeling in the world, and they only have to treat you a fraction as nice as they hurt you. And you'll fall." He meets his brother's eyes again, having been unable to meet them during that speech. He sees defiance, anger, exasperation and fear, and all of them will be their downfall.

Time for the big finale. "And then they'll mate with you, and make you theirs, and you'll be lost forever. Castiel…Father knows how long it's been for him here." He looks away, remembering how his little brother had shied from the touch on his Grace, how much he'd looked at Dean with devotion and love…how Castiel had told Gabriel that Dean was beautiful, that Gabriel would think the same way.

There's a twisted kind of beauty to them. Gabriel respects them as enemies, and the _thing _inside of him makes him think of them as…not evil. But they are and he knows that, and he knows that the day will come when he will look at Sam the same way Castiel looks at Dean.

"I wish I could say you'll be strong enough, my brothers. But I wasn't."

Kushiel looks down, her brow marred with frown lines and her hands shake with fear. "Are you telling us to accept this?" she asks, looking up at Gabriel with anger in her eyes.

Gabriel shakes his head. "No. I'm saying to fight them tooth and nail, but _when _you fall – and it _is _a when, brothers – do not be ashamed, because demons are relentless, and they have all the time in the world."

* * *

When the Angels are led away, to separate holding cells to be prepared for their 'treatment', Sam comes into Gabriel's room and smiles, kneeling down next to the Archangel. Gabriel turns his face away just slightly, but Sam doesn't seem to mind – he places a light kiss to the corner of Gabriel's mouth, his eyes flat black and his smile large and affectionate.

"You did well," he purrs, stroking some of Gabriel's dirty hair from his face.

"I didn't like lying to them," Gabriel confesses, looking back up to Sam, and the demon chuckles, shaking his head.

"I didn't hear one word that was an untruth," he says, and then leans forward for a full kiss, and Gabriel doesn't fight him – he opens up and lets Sam ravage his mouth, fingers clutching at Sam's hair and he leans his body against Sam's, soft curves against hard muscle and the demon growls. "Fuck, Angel, you're so _desperate _for it, aren't you?"

"Please, Master," Gabriel moans, nipping at Sam's bottom lip. "Please, need you. So bad…_please._" Because Sam has taken the time from Hell into his room, and shoved it forward one hundred years. One _hundred _years Sam's been here, coming and going, promising and teasing and _breaking _Gabriel down, both Sam and Dean with blood and love and pain and sex, and Gabriel is now just as devoted to Sam as they'd ever hoped he'd be. This is his third child for Sam – he had had twins the first time around; Evelyn and Tristan.

Sam chuckles. "Well, since you asked so nicely…" And Sam pushes Gabriel down, and the Archangel's Grace swirls into black just like his brother's had, just like the rest of them will.

_Heaven will be ours._


	12. Child's Play

**Title: **Child's Play  
**Author: **HigherMagic  
**Pairings:** Demon!Dean/Demon!Sam, Dean/Fallen!Castiel, Dean/Kushiel (OFC), Adam/Anael (Anna), OMCs/Uriel, Castiel/Balthazar (past)  
**Rating:** NC-17  
**Word Count:** ~ 2800  
**Spoilers: **None (This is AU)  
**Summary:** Breaking Angels is never easy but Dean makes it look like child's play.  
**Notes/Warnings:** Lots of bloody, gory, evil boys doing stuff to each other.  
Unbeta'd. All mistakes are my own.

**Also, Anael was going to be an OFC, but people kept thinking she was Anna. I mean, it wouldn't work like that because if Dean was never pulled out of Hell then Anna would never have heard the 'Dean Winchester Is Saved' thing, but then maybe when the war started she would have heard…Anyway, Anael wasn't going to be Anna, but she is now.**

**ANNND, in the Bal episode, Castiel said 'I thought he died in the war'. This is what my take on this is. If it's wrong, just bear with me (because it's just a plan I'm fitting with the canon of this story, so it's probably wrong) *shrugs*

* * *

**

Kushiel.

She's got fight to her. Dean likes that. He likes when she hisses and spits at him, straining against chains of salted iron that won't affect her…but the Enochian sigils carved into them will. They burn into her vessel's neck and the scent of her room is of burning flesh, even more so when Dean takes her whip of fire and wraps it around his own palm, branding his name and his own sigils into her flesh. Her arms, her face, between her legs when he pushes them apart and fucks her. It's been a long time since he had a woman. He'd almost forgotten how wet they got when you treated them right, how high-pitched their screams were when you didn't.

She falls stupidly quickly, for all her fighting. Dean spent a lot of his human life learning how to love and leave women, how to make their bodies sing for him, and how to make them purr and howl like Goddamn animals. His first victim on the rack was a woman, and Alistair taught him in painstaking detail exactly how to break females apart, because they're different than men. Sure, every soul is different, but there are still several fundamental things that will have them cracking and fraying around the edges. Dean turns her into a whimpering, submissive thing within a 'year' in her room. He then breeds her out to the demons under Sam because he couldn't care less about who she fucks and bears children for. The important thing is that there are more children.

Uriel.

Dean doesn't like this Angel. He's cocky and arrogant and he just rubs against Dean's soul the wrong way, so he doesn't deal with him much. He's got strong Grace, though, and that is a good hereditary trait, so Dean instead observes while other demons break him. He's thrown to the horde straight away, and while the unfocused attentions and almost random sessions don't break him as quickly, they still do the job. Uriel is on his third child by the time the decade's out. He'd tried to destroy the first one himself but Dean had stopped him before he could damage or kill it.

Anael.

Now Anael…is special. She's special because she isn't entirely Angel to begin with. Dean's intrigued by her. When he comes into her room with a changeling – a newly formed demon – in tow, she shrinks away, afraid because she's not as strong as the others. Her Grace is not full or bright.

"Hey there, beautiful," Dean says, smiling as he leads the other demon by the hand into her room, towards her where she's curled in on herself, small, light-boned wings curled around her legs protectively, feathers ruffled and facing outwards like a spiked tortoise-shell shield. He kneels down in front of her, blade in hand, half-hidden behind his thigh, just visible as a deterrent against any funny business. "I hear some very interesting things about you…"

Her blue eyes flash up to him, and then narrow, but she doesn't say a thing.

Dean finds it funny – he laughs. "You're possibly the first Angel who hasn't had something to say. Demon got your tongue?" he taunts softly, letting go of the other demon's hand and instead reaching forward, carding his fingers through her feathers. Her wing jerks in his grasp, surprised and afraid of the intimate touch.

"Please," she whispers, looking up at him and, if possible, curling in further. Dean cocks his head to one side. "Please."

"Please what, beautiful? You gotta tell me or how else will I know?" Dean purrs, the Cheshire cat smile on his face as he leans forward, touching her face this time, and she turns away, her eyes going to the other demon after a moment. He died young – can't be more than eighteen years old, maybe. He's got pale green-grey eyes and spikes of dirty blonde hair, and it makes him look innocent. He would be if she couldn't see the blackness of his new demon soul, lined around the edge with sulfurous yellow.

Normally Dean wouldn't be paying attention to her, but Sammy wants results, and damn it Dean will give him results. Sometimes you don't need to hurt someone to break them. Sometimes, you just need to threaten to do so.

Dean catches the demon and Angel watching each other and smiles, pulling away and taking the demon by the shoulder instead. "This is Adam, beautiful," he says, eyes remaining their bright forest green as he smiles, softening it. He can feel her relaxing already, and he pulls Adam closer to him, nuzzling into his changeling's jaw for a moment. Adam is stone cold and doesn't react to the gesture. Dean doesn't mind – he just pulls away after a moment, looking back to the Angel. "And what's your name, beautiful?"

She hesitates. "Anna. I was called Anna."

Dean smiles encouragingly at her and she tentatively matches the expression. "There we go, beautiful. We're not all bad, I promise," he says, lying easily but she doesn't catch it – she can't. She's half-Angel already, only restored enough to be useful in a fight, but the collar around her neck prevents most of her powers anyway. Dean's grip shifts, goes to the back of Adam's head and pulls the demon forward, closer to her. "We can actually be very nice, Anna. Loving, even."

Her eyes are wide, focused on Adam and she shifts away a little. Dean doesn't let the gap grow too much before he's no longer between Adam and Anna, and he pushes at the demon's shoulder. "Let him kiss you, beautiful. Let him show you how good we can make you feel."

She takes a deep breath but doesn't fight, and Adam leans in, his lips gentle and soft against hers. Coaxing, careful, like she's something precious and breakable, like fine china, and Dean watches as the Angel sighs and relaxes into the strange, unforeseen contact, relaxes her body and lets her wings and legs spread for Adam. He watches as, without any pain or deterrent or _coercion_ on his part, she willingly submits to his newest changeling. It's fascinating, almost.

Anna conceives that very night. Sam's so pleased with Dean's progress that he fucks him so hard, so much that Dean can't walk right for the next three days, and even then he's a little more bow-legged than usual and sitting down hurts.

Balthazar.

Ah…_Balthazar._

Dean brings Castiel to this Angel's room, because he'd seen…he'd seen the connection between his pet and his newest toy and he wants to poke at it, see exactly what kind of link tied these two Angels together. And, if possible, shred it.

He lets Castiel go in first, lets the hope rise in the Angel's Grace and then die when he sees that not only is Castiel still fallen, with marbled blue eyes now to match Azazel's instead of demonic black, but Castiel actually doesn't even seem to recognize or acknowledge him. His focus is on Dean as the demon enters the room a few paces behind him, so intent on his Master's wishes and his mate's needs that he almost forgets about the other Angel in the room.

Dean makes a quick gesture and Castiel sits, a few feet from his Brother, who's still staring at him as though expecting him to _do _something. Castiel doesn't even look at him.

"Castiel," Balthazar finally says when the silence has stretched on too long, when the demon is busy in another corner of the room, gathering and clinking around supplies with a kind of absentmindedness that makes it obvious he's just stalling. The fallen Seraph turns to look at his Brother. "Castiel, do you know who I am?"

Castiel blinks and then snorts, his smile bitter. "Of course I do, Bal," he says with a kind of affection that makes Balthazar's Grace swell with love, hopeful and grateful that not all of his brother is lost, before Castiel continues; "You're the man who came in with me to lay siege, and then faked his own death. You're the one who, instead of dying like I thought you had, managed to escape and leave me behind."

Balthazar gasps, staring at Castiel incredulously. "I didn't…"

"I was following you," Castiel says, his eyes slipping into that marbled blue iris that sends shivers up Balthazar's spine. "We were in the Eastern Wing, so close. Close enough that I could feel the Righteous Man, knew exactly where to go, and then we had gone through a crossroads in the hallways and were ambushed. I remember the feeling of your Grace being destroyed, Balthazar. It tore straight through me and made me stumble, and it gave the advantage the demons needed to take me down. But here you are, sitting next to me right now." He cocks his head to one side, smile growing. "I guess what goes around comes around, am I right, _Brother?_"

The way he says the name makes Balthazar's Grace roil. The Angel's wings flare out defensively. "I had to. We were outnumbered. Someone had to go back, to get reinforcements. I thought you were right behind me!"

"Well," Castiel replies coolly, "I wasn't."

There's a long pause in which Balthazar watches the brother he loves and cares about so much, watching his Grace swirling black and his eyes a cold, uncomforting and alien blue. It's like this Castiel is an entirely new one, one that doesn't belong to him or Heaven anymore, but that can't be because Castiel still has his _wings, _he's still an Angel – buried deep, deep down, Castiel can still be saved.

Dean finally gives up any pretense of not paying attention, and stalks over to the two Angels, a smile on his face. Castiel crawls over when he kneels down, resting his forehead against Dean's neck, letting his wings unfurl so Dean can touch and tease them as he wishes. The demon's hands immediately go to the underside of Castiel's wings, around the base of his spine, and the Seraph mewls, flaring them up and out.

Balthazar's face is an expression of disgust and sorrow and anger, that something so dirty is touching his beloved brother's wings. He can't even try to hide the hiss that escapes him, or the way he bares his teeth and flares his wings in an aggressive gesture.

The demon blinks his black eyes open, looking over at the other Angel, and laughs. "What is it, Angel?" he asks, knotting and tugging on Castiel's feathers harshly, making his pet arch and gasp and whine, muscles on his back and through his wings flexing as he tries to get more of Dean's addictive touch. "Jealousy's a sin, you know."

Balthazar growls at Dean. "He's not yours."

"Really?" Dean asks with a raised eyebrow, looking down at the panting Angel where Castiel's face is still buried in his neck, riding one of Dean's thighs lazily as Dean continues to pet him, and the demon smiles in superiority. "Could'a fooled me."

"You bastard," Balthazar growls, chains clinking as he tries to move, but Dean's got him pinned and tied down too well. "I will kill you. If it's the last thing I do, I will shove my blade through your neck and watch you choke on your own blood."

"Promise, promises," Dean singsongs, unceremoniously dumping Castiel to the floor without a thought and standing up. Dean grins, brushing himself off and wiping the oil from Castiel's wings onto his jeans. He goes over and kneels in front of Balthazar, their faces inches from each other. "He may have been yours once," Dean growls, "but he's _mine _now. I've made him so. I caught him, I taught him, I broke him and trained him. What did you do?" He snorts, sitting back on his heels. "You betrayed him, and you left him to the wolves."

Balthazar spits in Dean's face, pushing at him with his wings, but the demon just laughs, wiping his face clean. "Oh, you're going to be _fun," _he coos, practically jumping for joy. "Don't get too comfortable, precious – you can fight as hard as you want but I _will _break you, and when I do, I'm going to toss you to the wolves just like you did to your _beloved _brother." He laughs again. "Just you wait."

The Angel doesn't reply, doesn't want to reply. He doesn't want to give the demon any advantage over him, any reason to think that breaking him will be easy, because Balthazar is determined to be strong, to stay strong so that he can save Castiel and atone for the sins of his orders. Dean can see the determination in his eyes, and it will just be so beautiful when that light and fight flares and dies, and Dean will be around to watch it all.

"Castiel," he calls, waiting barely a moment before his Angel is at his shoulders, resting his stubble-rough jaw against the back of Dean's neck. Dean turns his head. "Where is your blade?"

Castiel blinks for a moment, unmoving as he thinks, his wings coming around to gently brush down Dean's sides, begging for an affectionate touch like a cat. "I don't remember, but I believe it is in your possession, Dean," he says after a long moment, and the demon laughs.

"That's right. You gave it to me, didn't you?" he says, words heavy with meaning as he looks back to Balthazar, watches at the Angel's entire body stiffens in outrage and disbelief. An Angel's blade is like a demon's blade – it's part of them, a very intimate and powerful thing. _If _Castiel gave his over willingly, it's practically an oath of fealty.

Balthazar knows this. Knows that Dean knows this. The Angel's wings shudder at the implications.

Castiel nods, confirming Bal's fears. Dean watches as the Angel fights to stay strong, fights to keep himself wanting to believe that it's not true, that his Brother isn't lost. Dean can see his conviction waning. "Yes, Dean, I did."

"You gave it to me the first night I _made love _to you, didn't you?" Dean asks, still watching Balthazar. He almost spits out the phrase, knows that he's never 'made love' to Castiel. But it was the first night that his Angel welcomed him, and didn't fight back. The Seraph had summoned his blade up, looked to Dean with wide, devoted blue eyes, and had handed him the blade without a word, without a thought. It was the night Castiel officially became Dean's.

The Seraph's wings arch closer around Dean, caressing the silken feathers around the demon's hips and waist, just teasing around where his cock is covered by his jeans. Dean's jaw clenches just a little at the teasing touch, his eyes darkening and his smile growing as the Angel he's holding captive glares at him with hate-filled eyes, powerless to do anything. He's been struck dumb by the knowledge that his beloved Brother gave himself away to a demon.

After torture, of course, but still.

Finally Castiel nods again, his hands joining his wings as he brushes his fingers across Dean's stomach, along bare skin. "Yes, Dean. I remember," he whispers solemnly, oblivious and uncaring as to his Brother's anguish. Balthazar has been dead to him for a very long time and he's too far gone to even really remember what it felt like to tangle his Grace with his Brother's, to feel that unending love of their Father. Why should he need it, when Dean is all he'd ever needed, right here?

Dean smiles, turning in Castiel's arms, and takes the fallen Angel's chin in his hand, tilting his head to slant their lips together. Castiel's body dips lower, submitting easily to Dean, his wings still providing a kind of silken shield to hide themselves from view as they kiss in front of his Brother, and Dean's hand slides under Castiel's wing where it joins at his back, and digs in with his fingernails, grabbing with the rest of his hand, and the jolt of it almost sends Castiel to his knees.

Dean's still grinning. "On your back, sweetheart. I'm going to _make love _to you again," he says, black eyes watching as Castiel scrambles to obey, then he flashes them Balthazar's way. "And then, we're going to get your blade out again, and have some _real _fun."


	13. Malachai

**Title: **Malachai  
**Author: **HigherMagic  
**Pairings:** Demon!Dean/Fallen!Castiel, Dean/Demon!Sam, Castiel/Balthazar (past)  
**Rating:** NC-17  
**Word Count:** ~ 3,800  
**Spoilers: **None (This is AU)  
**Summary:** Malachai's wings are ready now.  
**Notes/Warnings:** Lots of bloody, gory, evil boys doing stuff to each other.  
Unbeta'd. All mistakes are my own.

* * *

Castiel trembles, wanton and needy under Dean's lecherous gaze. He doesn't even care that his Brother's watching them with hate- and anguish-filled eyes – all that matters is _Dean. _Always – _Dean, Dean, Dean. _Castiel's blood sings for him, on repeat like a broken record, as blue marbled eyes stare unflinchingly but desperately into stark, soulless black.

"Please, Dean, please…" he begs, reaching out for Dean to try and pull the demon down, make him fall into Castiel's welcoming body and wrap his wings and legs around him, get him as deep, as fast as possible. Dean smiles, placing a finger to his lips, and his eyes flash over to Balthazar, shackled as he is against the wall, unable to do a damn thing to stop this happening right in front of his eyes.

"I wonder if he ever had you like this," Dean murmurs, talking technically to Castiel, but really his words are directed at Balthazar as he kneels down between his Angel's spread legs, pushing on the inside of Castiel's thighs to make him spread just a little bit wider. Castiel's body trembles in anticipation, his wings arching up towards Dean in invitation to mate with him. "Describe Angel sex to me, Cas."

After everything they've been through together, Dean thought he'd trained Castiel out of his ability to blush. He's proven wrong when his pet's cheeks turn an adorable rose shade, and Dean reaches out to stroke a finger along the reddened cheek, smirking a little. "Come on, sweetheart – tell me."

"It's…very intimate," Castiel says softly, his hands finding Dean's forearms and running up them, settling in the upward rise of his bicep. Dean only allows such a forward touch because it's obvious that it hurts their audience more to see Castiel reciprocating, wanting it. Castiel bites his lip and his cheeks flush harder. "We touch our wings, and our Graces together, and it's like we're not separate anymore, just for a brief moment."

Dean cocks his head to one side, eyes black and considering. "And how does it feel fucking a demon, sweetheart?" he asks, his voice a purr as he rocks his jean-clad cock against Castiel's bare skin, feeling the Angel buck and hiss for him instinctively, his hands turning a little sharper as he tries to pull Dean closer, to no avail. Castiel throws his head back, gasping, and chains clink nearby as Balthazar shifts in his place.

"It feels fucking divine, Dean," Castiel replies, and there are _so _many dirty things wrong in that single sentence that Dean damn near comes in his pants like a fucking _human. _His eyes flash over to Balthazar and his smirk of triumph couldn't be bigger, only mirrored and matched by the hatred in the other Angel's.

"You hear that?" he purrs, reaching down beside Castiel and tugging at his flight feathers, just lightly, making the Angel hiss, practically in tears from how much he craves Dean right now. "_Divine._" Dean's expression is positively gleeful.

Balthazar stifles a growl, blue eyes narrowed and full of righteous anger. "After torture, any pleasure can feel divine."

Dean chuckles, perhaps conceding the point. "How does it feel, watching me touch him, watching him want me, and beg for me, and knowing that you can't do a damned thing to stop it?" the demon asks, hatred, cruelty dripping from his voice like venom when he smiles towards Balthazar. The Angel's jaw clenches and his eyes are filled with hate, but he doesn't reply, and Castiel gives a wanton, breathless little whine, recapturing Dean's attention. The demon smile, shushing Castiel quietly. "It's alright, sweetheart, I'm here."

"Dean, please," Castiel begs, arching his wings up and over the demon's body and letting them fall over Dean's back, obscuring them from sight but it doesn't take a lot of imagination to work out what they're doing. Dean hisses at the feeling of silky smooth feathers caressing his skin, and he kneels up, unbuttoning and unzipping his jeans, pushing them down just enough to free his cock, which he fists twice. Castiel's watching him with wide, marbled blue eyes, lips parted and red, wetting his lower lip briefly and Dean bites his lip, watching Castiel, gripping himself around the base to keep from coming at the sheer _sin _of this picture. He wishes he had a fucking video camera.

Castiel's hands move from Dean's arms and around his back, digging into the demon's spine, where an Angel would be sensitive and Dean's quite responsive to the touch as well, arching his back against Castiel's warm hands, and the Angel smiles like he's done something good, Dean's pleasure is his praise.

For a brief moment, Dean forgets his audience, forgets that he's meant to be drawing this out, making Balthazar see how hopeless his naïve aspirations or rescue and salvation are, and he leans down and kisses Castiel, plastering his body over the Angel, who rises up to meet him with a low, satisfied moan. Castiel's wings tremble from desire and sensation and his cock is a warm line against Dean's, riding the demon's thigh perfectly as Dean grinds him hips down onto Castiel's.

Dean forgets that Castiel is just his pet, for a moment, and he loses himself in the brush of the Angel's wings and the gentleness of his touch, so different from Sam's. He doesn't bother with preparing the Angel because he wants to be _inside _of Cas, like, yesterday.

He presses against Castiel's thighs and the Angel moves for him, spreads for him like a whore but Dean doesn't have the heart or the breath to call him one. His eyes are closed and he rests his forehead against Castiel's neck when he pushes into the Angel, dry flesh catching on skin that's only been a little slicked with sweat, but Castiel doesn't mind – he rises up to meet Dean, clenching around the intrusion but not forcing him out – never forcing him out, and his fingers dig into Dean's shoulders, and he throws his head back, lips parted in a soundless gasp, eyes flaring brightly when Dean finally bottoms out inside of him.

Dean's rough, but not as rough as he could or has been. He feels Castiel's flesh tear when he pulls out, just the head of his cock catching on Castiel's rim, and then he fucks back in almost brutally, but there's no cruelty or harshness about it. He tells himself it's because he needs Castiel to look like he's enjoying it, for their audience's sake, but deep down he _knows _that that's not true and he hates himself for it.

When he finally manages to open his eyes and look at Balthazar, the Angel looks angry, sure, but not horrified. He looks jealous and his eyes glow with the Grace that is kept in check with his collar, but he's not moving anymore. He's just watching, like he's a sentinel over what's going on, like he's above it. Outwardly cold like a stern-looking marble statue, and that's not what Dean wants.

The demon grits his teeth against Castiel's skin when the Angel jerks in his grip, whining when Dean strikes his prostate, his eyes clenched tightly shut, because it feels _so _good, having Dean inside of him, so good like it always is, always has been.

He hears a whistling in the air, and blue eyes fly open when Dean manifests his blade. _Castiel's _blade. It should hurt the demon but, of course, Castiel gave it to him, so it doesn't. The knife it long and silver, looks like a very thin pyramid, with a rounded handle that Dean grips loosely, holding it like he holds his own knife – like it's an old friend and he knows he has nothing to fear from it, because it obeys and loves him. Just like Castiel's blade. Just like Castiel.

The Angel whimpers when Dean pushes himself up onto his free hand, laying the blade across Castiel's throat. His eyes are black and he's smiling his Cheshire Cat smile, and the Angel shakes again from desire and fear, loving when Dean gets like this, dreading what it's going to mean for him.

It gets a reaction from Balthazar, which is Dean's intent, of course. The shackled Angel sits up a little straighter, his eyes wide when he looks at his prone, vulnerable Brother and the demon he somehow loves. "What…what are you doing with that?"

"Of all the things to talk about," Dean murmurs, mostly to himself as though he didn't hear Balthazar, sliding the blade across Castiel's throat, harshly enough to leave a red line behind (because it is very, _very _sharp) but not enough to actually draw blood. Castiel swallows, but the trust and love in his eyes doesn't go away. "This blade…is it like a demon blade?" He asks as if he doesn't know. "Is this Castiel I'm holding in my hands, is this _Castiel_ that shines so prettily?" Dean's gaze breaks from Castiel's, still grinning when he looks over at Balthazar. "This part of Castiel that I get to keep with me?"

Balthazar's eyes narrow in hate. "You know the answer to that."

Dean smirks. "Yeah, even so." He's still moving inside of Castiel, still striking into him with brutal, unerring accuracy, and the Angel swallows back a moan, writhing underneath Dean except where he's too afraid to move, too close to his own blade for comfort to let himself give over to the pleasure.

"Do you want to come, sweetheart?" Dean asks softly, smiling with sharpness at the corners of his mouth as he leans down and whispers the words into Castiel's ear, lets his voice get all low and gravelly like he knows Castiel likes. The Angel's cock is hard and leaking against his stomach, and every time Dean bottoms out he can feel it jerk between their bodies. Castiel nods frantically, whimpering again, his fingers coming up to know in Dean's hair. The demon chuckles at the desperate behaviour but doesn't make Castiel stop – doesn't because he kind of enjoys knowing someone's so desperate for him. Sam's never been like this. "Come on, Angel, come for me," he demands, and there's no hesitance in Castiel's body. The Angel seizes up, clutching at Dean desperately, his wings tensing around the two of them until they're just in a cocoon of his own feathers while he spills between their bodies, and Dean smiles, placing a light bite to Castiel's neck as a reward as he picks up his pace again, letting Castiel's body milk him through his orgasm as he empties inside of the Angel with a low groan.

"Fucking beautiful," he growls into Castiel's neck as he comes down, stroking a hand through the Angel's sweaty hair, his other hand tracing patterns down Castiel's side with the knife. "Don't even fucking know it…Shit, Cas, just…_fuck_, sweetheart_._" Castiel's practically purring under his touch, Dean's warm affection combating perfectly with the cold tip of his knife, and Castiel's oversensitive body shudders around the sensations, and he lets his wings fall, laying them out for Dean's touch and caress.

It's an unnecessary invitation but Dean smiles anyway, and digs the tip of the knife underneath Castiel's feathers. The Angel sucks in a breath but Dean doesn't break skin – his Angel's wings are too pretty and he doesn't want to hurt them much anymore. He drags the flat of Castiel's blade up and out, bending some feathers the wrong way and, though Castiel's eyes are wide and frightened, he doesn't fight it – doesn't even turn his wing away to try and protect himself.

"This will be you, in a few years," Dean says, grinning as he looks over to Balthazar.

"You're a sick son of a bitch and, if it's the last thing I do, I will kill you."

Castiel tenses a little, but Dean just smiles. "Bring it on, baby."

* * *

The cries are getting loud enough to echo through the entire Ring of Hell, and Dean's alarmed. In his mind there are scenarios like siege, war, escape attempts, _something._

But it's a fucking _child._

_His _child.

Malachai is physically eight years old, now. All he's know are wet nurses and babysitters, but when Dean practically throws Castiel at the half-breed, the half of Malachai that makes him an Angel recognizes his father from their Grace, and the part of him that makes him a demon recognizes Dean from his power. Malachai runs towards Castiel and the Angel embraces him with a gentle sigh. Dean just hangs back.

"My son, why are you crying?" Castiel asks, and when his hands rest over the boy's spine Malachai shudders and tries to scramble out of his grip. "Malachai, talk to me, please."

"It…it _hurts,_" the child whines, and Dean's mildly annoyed because the kid's eight – he should be able to handle pain by now. He's about to say as much when Castiel turns the kid around, and Dean sees his back. It's been ripped open. The six lines that used to mar his back before have tripled in size and ripped him apart and there's blood running down his back, thick black globs of what look like scabs instead of cuts.

Okay, so maybe the kid's pain is a _little _justified.

"What's happening to him?" Dean demands, coming up to kneel beside Castiel. His hands are shaky when he touches his fingertips to Malachai's back, just the lightest touch but it has the children sobbing in pain. "Cas?"

"His wings are growing in," Castiel murmurs gently, eyes wide. "Dean, I need Holy Water to bathe the wounds. This will be very painful and without these getting cleaned, they will be irrevocably damaged."

Dean's eyes narrow just a little – Holy Water is a weapon. A weapon against demons and Castiel _knows _this, could use it against him. But there's no guile in his Angel's eyes, and there's nothing about this situation that screams of deception. "Get water and a rosary," the demon demands to an onlooker, one of Malachai's caretakers, and the demon nods and scurries away. "Faster, moron!" There's panicked movement coming down the corridor following Dean's orders.

"A rosary, Dean?" Castiel asks, frowning.

"I remember the blessing to make Holy Water. We don't have any to hand," Dean replies, swallowing as he looks at his son's back again. "Is there anything we can do while we wait?"

Castiel bites his lip, nodding. "They're meant to come out naturally," Castiel says, kneeling up and shifting his position so he's holding Malachai between the two of them. "But I believe the…demon side of him is stopping their normal growth. We will have to pull them out ourselves, and it will be painful."

"It's gonna hurt?" Malachai asks, eyes wide and looking over his shoulder at the Angel.

Castiel smiles reassuringly, stroking a hand down his son's face. "Yes, baby, it will, but I'll try and make it as quick and painless as possible. If we don't do this now you'll just end up hurting more. Okay, Malachai?"

The boy swallows, looking to his other father, but Dean's face is impassive, giving nothing away. Not showing how warm he feels when looking at Castiel with their son – their son, who looks so much like him were it not for his bright green eyes. Dean swallows and nods towards the boy, giving a lop-sided kind of half smile.

"Okay," Malachai whispers, and Castiel beams, placing a light kiss to the top of his head.

"Good, baby, good. Sit on the floor for me, okay?" he asks, pushing gently on Malachai's shoulders and making the boy sit. "Dean, come help me, please," the Angel demands softly, and Dean goes only because (he tells himself) Castiel's the only one who knows what he's doing and Sam would kill him if anything happened to any of the half breeds just because he didn't let the Angel take point.

The demon Dean ordered away returns a moment later with a large bucket of water and a rosary, that she holds as far away from herself as she can, face twisted in pain as the holy object burns her fingers, and Dean takes it from her, snarling at her to leave them again. The beads are made of iron and they burn his hand, but he grits his teeth and chants the incantation over the bucket of water, dropping the rosary in. It splashes a little and the water sloshes over his hands and knees but Dean pays it no mind as he drags it over to his Angel and his son.

"Okay. Now what?"

Castiel smiles at Dean, the expression so loving and affectionate that Dean resists the urge to snap at him to stop it. Castiel dips his hands in the water, eyes falling closed as his skin, too, begins to burn, his skin no longer holy since he fell, and then slathers it across Malachai's back. The boy whimpers lightly but stays obediently still.

Dean winces in sympathy when Castiel digs his fingers into Malachai's back, fingers hooking over the black, pussy scabs and digging, pulling. He grits his teeth when the boy cries out, falling forward onto his hands and knees, shaking as, before Dean's eyes, Castiel pulls a wing out of his back. It's clumped together with blood and what looks like puss, but it's definitely a wing.

"Dean, pour the water on it," Castiel says quickly, urgently, already working on the second. There's six lines down Malachai's back and they have to do this _now. _

Hurriedly the demon kneels down by his son, pouring some of the water over the wing. It hisses on contact and Dean feels the Holy Water burning his skin but it doesn't matter, because the water is washing away the blood and the weird other substance on Malachai's wings, running down to puddle in small pools at the tips. When the stuff solidifies it looks like melted candle wax.

"Comb through the feathers. We have to get all of it," Castiel says, dipping his hands in the bucket again and wetting down Malachai's third wing, and Dean nods, gritting his teeth as he obeys. Malachai's wings burn on contact and the boy's sobbing, trying to stay still and do what his father told him but it's _really _hard. The only reason he's not moving to get away is because it hurts too fucking much.

"Dad, please…" he cries out, grabbing onto Dean's thigh, and the demon starts for a moment, staring down at Malachai in surprise, before he holds the boy's hand gently in his burning one and squeezes. "Make it stop, please…"

"It'll be over soon," he whispers to his son reassuringly, but the bucket's almost empty and there are still two wings to go. He summons up more demons and demands they bring him more water. He uses up the last of it just as more arrives and blesses it quickly, and Malachai might as well be bathing in the stuff with how much he uses on his son's back, trying to get the weird burning substance off of his wings.

"Is it always like this?" he asks Castiel, unable to imagine how Angels deal with the panic and the stress of getting their wings.

Castiel bites his lip, and he's joined Dean now in combing through the feathers, making sure they got all of the blood and puss away to prevent any infection or long-term damage. "No. Usually the wings grow out on their own, but they weren't. I believe it was due to that fact that he's not all Angel. However, the worst is behind us now," he says, soothing a hand up his son's bloody spine, and the boy shakes and whimpers, his wings folding up as he tries to shy away.

There are three pairs. The first pair is very small, barely able to be called a wing and comes out just above Malachai's hips. They are about the length of Dean's forearm and are pure, unfractured black. They are the softest pair and Castiel tells Dean that they are for changing directions during flight, because if the wind suddenly changes or if you suddenly have to avoid an obstacle, the large main wings aren't light enough for that, and Angels don't have tails to help them.

The second pair looks like a grassy meadow that has shadows on it. The underside is black like the first pair, and they arch up on either side of Malachai's spine. They are the main pair – the pair used for flying and they are curved like an eagle's, tapering to a point where they become flecked with green, and the outer feathers are a deep emerald, lightening towards the tips on the top side of his wings. They are not as soft but just as beautiful, falling to cover their smaller brethren.

The third pair come out from just underneath Malachai's shoulder blades, and they curve around his body like a bird's. They are a rich royal blue, the same color as Castiel's eyes, with black on the top side this time. Dean thinks that might be his demon influence there, but he's not sure and he doesn't ask. When he touches them, it feels like he's caressing iron. It actually burns and he hisses, recoiling from it. Castiel tells him that these wings are the strongest ones, used for defense and in fights, which is why they're so strong and hard. They dwarf Malachai in size, their length almost twice the boy's height.

_That's my son, _Dean thinks with a kind of awed wonder, watching as Malachai's brain catches up with his body and tells him that the pain's died away, and the half breed sits up, his wings curving around himself defensively, the stronger, middle pair wrapping around himself, and he touches the feathers with wide eyes and a tear-stained face.

Castiel's smiling, tears in his eyes as well and tentatively he reaches forward with a wing, brushing it along Malachai's smallest pair, and the half breed jumps, watching Castiel for a long moment before he relaxes with a smile, hesitantly brushing back.

They look good when they smile. Clones of each other except for wings and eyes. Dean finds himself grinning without realizing it, and he knows that now Malachai can work on training for real now, fighting using his wings and learning to fly. Malachai is the first but he certainly isn't the last – in another year or so Gabriel's twins will have matured to this stage and they'll join him, and then one by one the rest of the children, until Sammy has an army, and Malachai will be their general.

It's a great aspiration, and Dean ignores the little feeling in the back of his head that maybe his boy deserves more than that. But hey – Castiel's for all that lovey-dovey affectionate crap. Dean's above it – doesn't need it. Doesn't _want_ it. His loyalty and love belong to Sam and that's it.

At least, that's what the demon tells himself.


	14. Army

**Title:**Army  
**Author:**HigherMagic  
**Pairings:** Demon!Dean/Fallen!Castiel, Dean/Demon!Sam  
**Rating:** NC-17  
**Word Count:** ~3,100  
**Spoilers: **None (This is AU)  
**Summary:** The armies are massing on all sides.  
**Notes/Warnings:** Lots of bloody, gory, evil boys doing stuff to each other.  
Unbeta'd. All mistakes are my own.

* * *

"Angel, tell me something."

Dean and Castiel are resting in the Angel's improved room, Castiel breathing deeply and evenly, almost asleep. He would be if Dean's hands would stop touching him, kept awake by the demon's teasing touches through the thick black feathers on his wings, and he shifts sleepily, whimpering as the action makes the hardness between his legs rub cruelly against Dean's own, and his eyes flutter open to meet the demon's. He licks his lips, biting them gently before nodding, wings curving forward towards Dean.

"Malachai has three sets of wings," Dean murmurs, flashing his eyes away from Castiel, green taking in the beautiful eagle-like arches, tugging them closer, just a little, and Castiel shivers and goes, pressed against the demon completely, naked skin against naked skin, desire flaring through Castiel but he's forced to ignore it as Dean keeps talking; "Why can we only see one of yours?"

Castiel takes in a deep breath, whimpering again and biting his lower lip again as Dean knots his fingers in his wing, tugging harshly closer, enough that there's a tail-end of pain under the constant undercurrent of arousal. Castiel shifts, never having felt quite like this before, a soft blush rising on his cheeks and a dark shadow in his mind as he tries to think of what's happening to him.

Dean gets tired of waiting for his answer, bringing his other hand back into play where it's resting under Castiel's head, acting as a pillow, and his hand sweeps down to press against his Angel's spine, nails digging in just slightly, and Castiel gasps out a broken sound. "Answer me, Angel," Dean purrs.

Castiel's hand shake but he makes his fingertips graze the collar around his neck. "The…the restraints," he whispers, gasping again when Dean starts petting through his wings in reward. It feels like he's being electrocuted from nodes that are just underneath his skin and it _hurts, _it _burns_. "They hold my other wings in and dull their color." Liquid heat burns through Castiel and he whimpers again, making a pained sound when Dean pulls him closer, sliding a leg between Castiel's lax thighs so the Angel has something to ride, to thrust against. Castiel's hands grab at Dean's shoulders, digging in hard enough to draw blood and the added scent, that addiction and feeling that glorious nectar on his fingers, Castiel shudders again. "Dean, I…"

"What is it, Angel?" the demon purrs, half-curious half-amused, loving seeing his Angel so wanton, fucking himself on Dean's thigh like he's a fucking demented Chihuahua or something, and Castiel whines, his wings flaring out and arching over the both of them and he presses closer, burying his face in Dean's neck. Dean's hand moves from Castiel's spine to the back of his head, threading his fingers through the soft hair.

"I…I feel…_Dean_." He can't speak; feels too wound up and too aroused to force the words out. All he knows is he _needs_. He needs in a way he's never known, not even when Dean got him addicted to his blood. He grabs at the hand in his wings, slick with oil that's being produced like sweat, liberally coating his feathers, back and Dean's skin up to the wrist, and guides Dean's fingers behind him, to his entrance, and he mewls when Dean touches him there, cants his hips into the press of Dean's fingertips, and whines, baring his teeth against the demon's skin. _"Please,_ Dean," he begs, tossing his head away and hooking his chin over Dean's shoulder, pressing even closer, desperately trying to get the demon to understand that he _needs, _he _wants_.

Dean smirks against Castiel's neck. "Horny, Angel?" he taunts softly, circling Castiel's hole with deft, teasing touches, making his Angel mewl and press against a touch that refuses to come. "Look at you, whimpering so prettily, riding my leg like that, like you're so desperate you'll take anything, and you will, won't you Angel?" Castiel bites his lip, tries to nod, can't. His wings tremble and flare open, oil covering their underside, inviting Dean to mate with him even though Angel body language is pretty much lost on demons.

The oil acts to Castiel's skin and feathers like sweat does for humans. The lightest breeze or touch against them, and the nerves feel twice the sensation. Dean's free hand cards itself through the underside of Castiel's wings and his Angel full-body shudders, gasping, biting down on Dean's shoulder hard enough to break skin. So much sensation but not enough – this need in his body is too well-trained to come without Dean inside of him and saying he can, despite the fact that over the months of training Malachai since his wings first grew in, Dean had gentled with Castiel. The Angel hardly ever saw Dean's blade anymore unless they were with one of his Brothers or Dean was playing on his own with Castiel just watching. The Angel's blood hadn't been spilled in a long time and old scars were starting to heal. Soon Castiel would look like he had when he'd first come here.

Dean's smirking against Castiel's temple, and the Angel groans when Dean finally has mercy and pushes a finger inside of him, all the way in, and Castiel opens for him readily with minimal resistance. The demon makes a surprised sound, feeling Castiel already loose and wet for him, and shifts so he can better see. Castiel ends up on his stomach, Dean between his legs as the demon explores, one finger becoming two and then three, Castiel easily taking them, spreading his legs wider and fucking back onto Dean's fingers with broken sounds. It's damn near the hottest thing Dean's ever seen.

"Look at _this_," he says, almost awed by it, as he leans down at licks at Castiel's opening around his fingers, delighting when the Angel squirms and more wetness seems to gush out around his fingers. "What's happening here?" Castiel tastes like pheromones and heat, like the Hell Hound compound when the bitches are put out to breed.

The Angel's back shines with oil and there's so much _wetness_ between his legs. Dean's never seen anything like it before. The slick tastes good, and Dean pulls his fingers out, uncaring for Castiel's harsh, desperate whimper, and sticks his tongue in instead, lapping up all the wetness coming out of Castiel and making a pleased little sound when his actions produce more. Castiel's shaking so badly it's almost like he's having a seizure.

"Want me to fuck you, Angel? Smell like a Goddamned bitch in heat – want me to fuck you and fill you up, hmm?" Dean purrs, dragging his nose up along Castiel's spine, getting his face slick with oil. Castiel's back arches, wanting Dean to be _everywhere,_ and they both moan when Dean slides into Castiel's slick, open hole without a hitch. "Fucking _hell_, Cas." His hands knot in Castiel's feathers savagely, rocking his hips up sharply enough that Castiel has to buck up as well, Dean pressing against his insides in an intoxicating way.

"Oh, Dean, please, _please please please, _yes." Castiel whines, pleasure coursing through him at the sensation of Dean filling him up. Mewling, rocking back against Dean, trying to get the demon to go just that little deeper, his arms collapse, unable to hold his weight, when Dean's clever fingers go under his wings, nails digging into the sensitive underside where they sprout from his back. "Please, please, Dean, don't tease me." Castiel moans again, sounding broken and desperate, his wings flaring out and spreading and just giving Dean completely free reign to do as he pleased.

The demon growled, watching the dark Grace swirl around inside Castiel, lit with blue lightning from wherever he touched, and thrust in harshly, jarring Castiel and breaking off his litany of broken moans and encouragement. "Gonna fill you up, Cas, nice and hot, make you have another half-breed for me," he snarls, leaning over Castiel's shaking form and biting down on the back of his neck, stilling himself inside of the Angel, his holds reminiscent of a stallion mounting a brood mare. "Touch yourself, Angel, but don't you dare come yet."

The Angel whimpers, knowing that it's going to be a long, long night before Dean lets him get any release, but he obediently wraps a hand around himself, stroking slowly and loosely, and if, occasionally, he has to dig his own nails into his skin to bring himself back from the edge, well, Dean doesn't notice. And if he does, he certainly doesn't care.

* * *

Dean takes up Malachai's training, and sends the demon wet nurses away. From now on it's just one-on-one with father and son.

Malachai's third, largest set of wings are powerful and capable of delivering great blows to the demon. His wings are surprisingly powerful – the ends of his first pair are as sharp as a demon's blade, and his second are strong and allow him to fly fast and far, as well as deliver extra power behind his blows. The third pair allow him to be quick in the air.

Dean makes the boy train for days at a time, only allowing him to rest for brief food breaks. The boy must become as strong as possible, as fast as possible, as Sam is impatient for their troops to start moving and Gabriel's twins have recently gotten their wings, so there are more children to begin their first battalion.

"Hey, Dad?" Malachai asks, his green-black middle pair of wings shifting awkwardly around him as he rests and takes a drink of water from the bottle Dean had handed him. It was the ice water people always talked about people wanting – a highly valued commodity. Dean looks over him, flashing a small smile because the boy looks just like Castiel, except for where he has Dean's eyes.

"Yes, what is it?" the demon asks, brushing some of his son's sweaty hair back from his face because, despite knowing he shouldn't, knowing that it's a _Bad Idea_, he feels a strange sort of emotional attachment to the boy. He likes spending time with Malachai, and doesn't like the idea of leaving him alone after their sparring sessions.

Malachai bites his lip, looking down and fidgeting with the cap of his bottle before he looks back up at his father. "What exactly goes on between you and Sam?" he asks, blurting it out like he's doing it before he can chicken out, and Dean blinks, taken aback by the question.

"He is my mate," Dean replies, like it's the most obvious fact in the world.

"But I'm not his son," Malachai replies with a frown.

Dean waits a moment, looking his son up and down, and then shakes his head.

"But…what does that make my father?" the boy asks, unsure, looking up and meeting his father's demon-black eyes. "I mean…you slept with him to have me and…"

"Castiel is a carrier," Dean replies, putting a hand on Malachai's shoulder and squeezing in what was meant to be a reassuring way, but with the way the boy winced it probably came off wrong. "He was the first creature I caught myself, the first thing I dragged down here, and broke." Dean's expression turns into a fond smile, remembering how pretty the defiance in Castiel's eyes had been, how lovely he'd been when he's spat in Dean's face and cursed him and tried to fight him back, and then how nicely he'd broken for Dean when the demon asked him to. "He bore you for me, and he very well may be pregnant again with a brother or sister."

"But…wait." Dean turns to look at his son, seeing Malachai's expression twisted into one of confusion and horror, instead of the pride or awe he was expecting. "Don't you…care about him? Don't you love him?"

Dean raises an eyebrow, cocking his head to one side at Malachai, and removes his hand. His eyes flash around their empty room, because Sam's eyes and ears are everywhere and this conversation is going down bad roads. "Castiel is kept here for breeding," he states definitively, neither denying nor acquiescing Malachai's point. "He is rightfully mine because I broke him."

"He's not _broken_," Malachai snarls, standing up, his wings flaring out in aggression and defense, barbs standing out on the upper edge of his largest wings. His eyes flash black and he bares his blood-lined teeth, put there because if there's anything Dean's very good at, it's training others. "He's not _yours_. He's a living, breathing thing, and he _loves_ you! I have no doubt that he could bust out of here if he really wanted to, but he stays, and he helps you, and he _fell_, all because of you!"

"Malachai," Dean growls, standing up, tense because this is dangerous territory. "Who have you been talking to?"

"Many people speak to me," the boy replies, his smaller wings folding petulantly as the worst of his anger begins to abate. "But I know Angels don't conceive unless they are in love and mated. You are Castiel's mate, whether you want to be or not, or I wouldn't be here spelling it out for you."

For a long, tense moment, there is nothing, and then between one blink and the next Dean's on Malachai, a hand closing around the boy's throat, the other over his mouth so any cries don't alert demons outside the room, and he snarls, eyes flashing completely black, snarling when Malachai's wings buffet him, trying to throw him off, but Dean's spent years subduing Angels and Malachai's no different – his knees find Malachai's and pin them down under the harsh joint.

"Do not speak of this anymore," Dean says, voice low with urgency, staring down into his son's terrified eyes, and abruptly he realizes that his hand is squeezing so tightly that Malachai can't breathe. He hurriedly releases the boy, standing up and throwing himself away from his boy. "I mean it, boy – eyes and ears are everywhere. If something does not please my King - closing around the boy's throat, the other over his mouth so any cries don't alert demons outside the room, and he snarls, eyes flashing completely black, snarling when Malachai's wings buffet him, trying to throw him off, but Dean's spent years subduing Angels and Malachai's no different – his knees find Malachai's and pin them down under the harsh joint.

"Do not speak of this anymore," Dean says, voice low with urgency, staring down into his son's terrified eyes, and abruptly he realizes that his hand is squeezing so tightly that Malachai can't breathe. He hurriedly releases the boy, standing up and throwing himself away from his boy. "I mean it, boy – eyes and ears are everywhere. If something does not please my King – _your King_ – then he can and will have both our heads." Malachai snorts at the mention of Sam's title, and Dean tenses, but nothing happens. "I mean it, Mal. Don't talk about this anymore."

"But it's true," the boy says in a small voice.

"Damn it, boy. What part of 'Don't talk about this anymore' do you not understand?" the demon yells, throwing his arms above his head. "Do you _want _to be killed? Everything I've worked for, everything I've had to do – you are _not _going to throw this all away because of some stupid notion of love and mates, do you understand me? I. Am. _Sam's. _You and Castiel are _mine_. Everything is Sam's through me. It is no business of mine whether your father loves me or not." He stops himself, takes a deep breath, forces a smirk to his face. "In fact, it makes it a hell of a lot easier to get him on his knees."

"You bastard!" Malachai's wings flare out again, the third pair growing impossibly big, and for a moment the demon is sure that his son will strike at him, but the half breed has more self-control than that, more self-control than Dean ever thought he could have. He takes a deep breath, folding in all of his wings, pinning them tightly to his back. "You're wrong."

"What?"

"You're _wrong_," Malachai growls, baring his teeth again, taking a step towards Dean, then another. "It _is _your business, and it's mine, and one day, Sam will make it his, and he'll make you choose between the two of you, and then what are you going to do?" The half breed smirks, and Dean can see the demon side of him now more than ever. "One day, you will choose. And, from what I've heard, you will choose wrong."

Dean snarls. "This session is over for today," he snaps, heading towards the door, away from his son's knowing green eyes and the face that is so much like his other father's. "I'll be back tomorrow. I hope you'll have had a severe attitude adjustment by then, or at least know when it is time to speak and when it is time to be silent."

He slams the door on any reply Malachai may have made, leaning against the burning iron and sighs, closing his eyes, letting the burning pain ground him as he rubs at the bridge of his nose. He's got a headache coming on. Malachai's words keep echoing around in his head; _One day, you will choose. And, from what I've heard, you will choose wrong._

But…_Sammy _wouldn't need to make him choose. Dean can keep having both. Of course he can.

"Winchester." Dean opens his eyes, seeing Azazel approaching him, and straightens, smiling cordially at the fallen Angel. "How goes it with the training?" he asks, sounding just a little too bored to be completely polite, and Dean's smile gets a little wider, a little more feral around the edges.

"The boy is strong, of course," he says, and Azazel nods, both demons smiling too widely at each other to be normal, as if they both hold stacked hands and are just waiting for the other to call a bluff. "I believe he shall be ready to serve very soon."

"Good…good…" Azazel's eyes flare yellow as he looks at Dean, pursing his lips before tapping his forefinger against them. "That reminds me – the King wants to see you. Immediately."

Dean nods. He doesn't move.

"You'd better not keep him waiting," Azazel says after a moment.

Dean gestures for him to go ahead. "Please, after you," he says, because he doesn't want anyone going near his son. Azazel's smile gets slightly wider, but he turns and takes his leave, forcing Dean to watch his back as he disappears, before the demon braces himself to go see his brother.

It's too soon for coincidence. Whatever Sam has to say can't be good.


	15. Time's Up

**Title:**Time's Up  
**Author:**HigherMagic  
**Pairings:** Demon!Dean/Fallen!Castiel, Dean/Demon!Sam  
**Rating:** NC-17  
**Word Count:** ~3,100  
**Spoilers: **None (This is AU)  
**Summary:** Dean has to choose.  
**Notes/Warnings:** Lots of bloody, gory, evil boys doing stuff to each other. Mpreg. Contemplation of forced abortions. Child cruelty.  
Unbeta'd. All mistakes are my own.

* * *

"Have you seen the King?" Dean asks to a passing female demon, who purses her lips in thought for a moment before she shakes her head 'no'. Dean makes a frustrated sound in the back of his throat and dismisses her, realizing that while Azazel had told him Sam wanted to see him, the fallen Angel had neglected to say _where_, and Sam hates being kept waiting.

Dean searches through most of Hell before he reaches the Training rooms and picks up Sam's scent. Curious, he walks forward, finding his brother sparring with his son, Tristan – one of Gabriel's twins. Dean hasn't seen Tristan since he was a baby – the boy's grown well. At thirteen he looks the spitting image of Sam when he was that old, and Dean can't stop the warm little glow that rises in him, seeing the face of the baby brother Sam used to be, who'd smile over fireworks and complain about bullies and unfair teachers.

Tristan has eight wings – that makes sense, since his other father has an unfathomable amount. His are all the same color – sleek and grey with shards of lightning-yellow splotches on the underside. One set sprouts out just above his hips like Malachai's do, the second rising up larger behind them and just sprouting up his back, so they look more like fins that actual wings, and are webbed. His most prominent pair are attached to his spine and are the only ones that have feathers, which are black and red and grey like shadows in a cave, and his largest pair for fighting and defense are leathery and black.

Dean can't help thinking that Malachai's are prettier, but Tristan's seem a lot more damaging.

The boy certainly knows how to use them – Sam must have trained him well, as the barbs on his largest wings are out and flared in aggression, his flight pair hooking upward to give them more span and take off the weight on his shoulders. He's not even trying to fly and Dean wonders for a brief moment if he can.

The Boy King's mate stays silent by the door, waiting until Sam finishes. His brother is clearly engrossed in the fight, watching Tristan's moves with calculating yellow eyes. The boy is sweating and panting and clearly exhausted but holds his wings and his hands steady nonetheless – Sam's training a true, tireless soldier and it's effective. The largest wings are powerful when they deal blows and though Sam parries or dodges them easily, Dean still tenses every time he sees a barb whistle past his brother's head.

"You're slowing down!" Sam growls in angry admonishment, and Tristan pushes back his floppy brown hair, face set in grim determination. His eyes are hazel like Gabriel's. "Come on – faster! How can you hope to last a minute if you're getting sloppy like this?"

Tristan's feathers start to ruffle in aggravation and he snarls, pushing himself towards Sam and tackling him with all the weight his wings can give him, and the half breed and demon go down, but the scuffle doesn't last long. It's clear that the advantage lies in Tristan's reach and power in his wings, and not in his body. Sam pins him easily like Dean had pinned Malachai, and the demon winces, watching, because surely he wasn't so cruel?

"Useless!" Sam spits, hand going around Tristan's throat to hold him down. "You're getting sloppy, and slow, and any Angel would run you through immediately. I don't have time to train another of you mutts."

"Sam!" Dean gasps out, shocked at his brother's words, announcing his presence right then. He steps forward as Tristan's wings fall around the pair onto the ground, and Sam looks up. For a moment there's a terrifying lack of recognition in his eyes, then he smiles and stands, completely ignoring his son as he approaches his mate.

"Dean," he murmurs in greeting, taking Dean's chin in hand and claiming his mouth in a quick, dirty kiss, before letting him go with a dismissive push. "Have you come to watch?" he asks with an almost child-like anticipation, and Dean bites his lip, because the boy looks exhausted and he doesn't want to strain him, but he knows that refusing Sammy would just be as dangerous for him, so he acquiesces, and winces again when Sam hauls Tristan to his feet by a wing. "Come on, boy – again!"

He pushes and Tristan stumbles, landing on his knees before he scurries quickly to his feet, wings flaring out again, and Dean gasps as he realizes that Tristan's wings aren't naturally red – no, that's blood. That's fresh blood seeming between Tristan's feathers from his back, where it looks like someone tried to rip his wings out.

_Does Gabriel know about this?_

Dean shakes himself at the thought, wonders at its origin, and then puts it to the back of his mind. It doesn't matter what Gabriel thinks or knows.

Sam's merciless. Dean knows Sam is perfectly capable of wearing an enemy down into nothingness if he really, really wanted to, and he's horrified at seeing the same treatment here, towards Tristan. Sam attacks like Tristan has committed some personal sin against him, wronged him on a deeply scarring level – he's got his blade out and Dean flinches when Sam stabs it through the pair of smaller wings coming from his back, making him choke around a scream and his hazel eyes flash white before he's pushing at Sam, buffeting him with his wings. It looks like he's trying to fly but he can't. Sam's snarling, smelling the blood in the air, his eyes yellow and full of murderous glee, and Dean can't watch anymore. He can't let this happen anymore.

When Sam goes back for another blow, Dean's suddenly there – he grabs Sam's forearm and pivots them away from Tristan, tripping Sam up because he knows his little brother's moves from when they sparred together as humans, and the two demons go rolling, away from the half breed who gratefully collapses at the respite.

Dean's got no chance against Sam's brute strength, even if he did have the murderous berserker rage flowing through his veins. He whines in submission when Sam presses a blade against Dean's throat, and the sound is so familiar to Sam that the Boy King hesitates, just for a second, on slashing this insubordinate's throat. That hesitance saves Dean's life.

Instead Sam growls, pressing a hand around Dean's throat instead of the blade, runs the tip down so it rests above Dean's racing heart. "What is the meaning of this?" he snarls, baring teeth that are bloody, and Dean shivers at the raw power coming off of Sam, fights it back with his horror, because even at Dean's worst he would never harm a _child _like Sam has been doing – no, there's still something inherently _wrong _about that. Something that he would never allow himself to do. He couldn't hurt Malachai the way Sam has been hurting Tristan.

"Sammy, enough," Dean murmurs, voice low in a plea, reaching up to card his fingers through his mate's shaggy hair, but Sam hisses and tosses his head, growling at Dean again and the lesser demon quickly subsides. "If you damage him, he won't be able to fight for you. This session should end now." Dean's eyes find and hold Sam's, because he won't back down on this. The scent of the halfling's blood is heavy in the air and Dean can hear his pained breathing. Dean's hand comes up, closes around Sam's knife-wielding arm. "Please, Sammy."

There's another infinitively long moment of nothing, then Sam blinks eyes that are hazel instead of yellow and Dean allows himself to relax, just a little. He smiles a predator's smile at Dean and then pushes himself to his feet, using Dean's chest as leverage, and looks over at Tristan who has surrounded himself in a shield of his giant protective wings, spines focused outward like a barbed tortoise shell.

"We are done training for today," he calls to the boy, who shifts in response, listening but wary. "Go to your father and have him heal you and then come back here tomorrow morning."

Dean doesn't see Tristan leave, but between one breath and the next he is gone. The boy's very fast. Sam smiles down at Dean and hauls him to his feet, still brandishing the blade in a way that sets Dean's nerves on edge, has the lesser demon eyeing it warily as though it were a coiled serpent, ready to strike at him.

"Was disrupting my training methods the only reason for you visiting, Dean?" Sam asks in a deceptively calm voice, advancing on the lesser demon with heat in his eyes, and Dean swallows and shies away, a nervous filly to a stallion, and averts his gaze, lowing his head when Sam's large, warm body presses up against him, pins him between burning walls and burning flesh. "Hmm?" Sam's nose drags through the fine hairs over Dean's ear and the older brother shivers.

"Yellow-eyes said you wanted to see me," Dean replies, unable to have stopped calling the demon that name since he was human – some habits just die too damn hard. He swallows, remembering flashes of his hunter life but they're gone in a steady exhale of Sam's onto Dean's neck. "Said it was immediate."

Sam hums, and doesn't seem to have heard him. He's still nosing along Dean's neck and the side of his face, inhaling his mate's scent. His eyes flare open and he leans back. "You smell like an Angel," he says, and Dean can't decipher his tone.

He nods, biting his lower lip. "Castiel went into heat yesterday. I've been breeding with him since then."

Sam nods again, and retreats, holding the tip of his bloodied knife to his lips, pursing them in thought. "I've been wondering if keeping that little Seraph on is as much trouble as it's worth," he muses quietly, but loud enough that Dean hears him. The demon's eyes widen but he can't say anything before Sam continues; "He has become too dirty and tainted to lure his kin again, and the time between his heats is so _slow_ – you indulge him, Dean," Sam says, snorting in derision like that one practical kindness is all the downfall in the world.

"But…Sammy…" Dean stutters, hesitates, can't believe what Sam is telling him. "Castiel is still useful. Yes, he is not the most stable carrier but he produces strong, devoted children. Malachai is willing to follow you into battle any day now." A lie. Sam's eyes flash with that knowledge. "While he still serves use, surely you could see fit to keep him. He's not troubling anyone but me and I don't mind it."

Sam laughs. It's a cold, harsh sound and it makes the hairs on the back of Dean's neck stand up. "You think I'm blind, Dean?" he purrs, looking over at his brother with a smile that would unnerve the Devil himself. "Do you think I'm stupid?"

Dean swallows. "What…what do you mean, Sammy?"

"I can see _everything_ in Hell, Dean, you know," Sam says conversationally, but his eyes have gone black and Dean trembles with the power emanating from him now. "I can see each demon child created, each one killed, each one's words and breaths and actions. I can see how Alistair put his hands on you like you belonged to him, and how you refused his advances like a good boy. You know the places I can't see, Dean?" Dean blinks, swallows, too terrified to speak. "Those Angels' rooms."

"You…they….you are blind to them?" Dean asks. He can't think of anything else to say.

"Their powers block them from my sight," Sam says with a dismissive growl, slashing his blade through the air. "They are powerful even with their restraints, and I am blind to them, and when you are in the rooms with them, I am blind to you as well." He pauses. "And I don't like it."

"Sammy, there is nothing -."

"Shut up, Dean!" Sam snarls, and he's suddenly in front of Dean again, pressing his blade that thrums with dark bloodlust against Dean's skin, pressing down hard enough to shed blood. "I may be blind to them but I've known you all my life. You, Dean, are loyal. You are faithful, but you are also righteous, and very, very willing to please. Eager for it, in fact, like a dog. And…" Here Sam pauses again, straightening so all of his height is bearing down on Dean and the lesser demon cowers against the wall, swallowing against the blood slick knife. "Perhaps a little too suggestible."

Dean growls at that, even if he's not quite sure what Sam's getting at with the words. His little brother smirks. "Do you think, Dean, that I can't see the way Gabriel is when he speaks of you and Castiel? Very talkative, that Archangel, especially if he thinks I'm not listening. I know you asked him about mating and miscarriage – you cared. You set them up in that nice comfy room so Castiel could be looked after and treated well. What I don't understand, Dean, is why you bothered, especially when he's nothing to you." The blade presses down a little harder. "He _is _nothing to you, yes?"

Dean swallows again and nods.

"So I've come to a conclusion," Sam says, straightening again and taking away the deadly sharp edge from Dean's throat. The older Winchester gasps around his burning lungs, desperately trying to draw air into them and ease his racing heart. "When Castiel bears his second child and the baby is born, you will kill him. He is too much stress and trouble otherwise."

_You will choose wrong._

Dean's eyes widen, and he knows better to argue with Sam but he can't help himself – "The children will not follow you if you kill one of them," he whispers, desperately because he can't think of another excuse that would let him keep his own head. "The Angels, too, will be angered by it. Don't do it, Sam – let me keep him away, lock him far down into the Pit so they never see him again, but don't…don't _let _me kill him." He spits the word out around clenched teeth, fights back the strange, painful twinging in his chest at the thought of his pretty Angel ceasing to exist anymore, of those eyes never darkening in lust or those wings getting slick from his own hands, to never see him bleed or cry or…or _smile_ again. Dean grabs at his chest, silences those mutinous thoughts, and looks up just in time to see his brother watching him.

Sam's eyes are dark and calculating. "People follow who they fear, Dean," he whispers with darkness tailing his words. "Killing Castiel will let them fear us – let them see that we will stop at nothing to get what they want. It's practically synonymous with loyalty."

_No, _Dean thinks as Sam turns his back on him, and leaves him along in the training room, _no, it's not. It's really, really not.

* * *

_

Dean's mind races with possibilities. Sam wants the child Castiel is bearing – Dean knows he's bearing one because the demon had practically fucked him non-stop since discovering Castiel's heat and animals don't go into heat for no reason.

He can kill the child. But doing so would hurt Castiel and might not prolong his life – might even shorten it, if Sam believes the loss to be natural and not inflicted. Dean swallows, finding himself thinking of Malachai, of that boy who is the spitting image of Castiel, and can't find it in himself to prevent another life like that growing. He knows he's growing soft, conscious…_human_, and he can't stop himself. He wants to tear his own heart out to prove he hasn't got one, but he can't. He can't because every time he thinks about ending Castiel's life – and it will be by his own hand because he couldn't let anyone else do it – it _hurts_.

He's thrown about four months into Castiel's room. Enough that the Angel's beginning to show. He steels himself, gripping his blade so tightly that the handle cuts into his palm, slicks it up with blood. He takes a deep inhale and tries to lose himself in the bloodlust but he can't – not this time. Because this time…_fuck_, this is something he can't heal. He can't give a life back after taking away. Not an Angel's one.

_You will choose wrong_.

No. He can't choose wrong. Not again. He'd chosen wrong when he made that deal for Sam and then did nothing to get out of it. He'd chosen wrong when he said 'Yes' on the rack and stepped off it, taking up a new blade. He would not choose wrong again.

Castiel's eyes light up on seeing him, the Angel's lips curving into a welcoming smile because Dean hasn't hurt him in so long that Castiel's almost normal again. He would be were it not for the scars on his body and the collar around his neck. His wings are curved forward when Dean greets him, inviting and welcoming and Dean doesn't have the heart to reject the invitation. He burrows deeply into Castiel's feathers, wrapping himself up in that warmness and safety and sighs, knotting his hand in the back of his Angel's hair and kissing him. He wants to do it hard and dirty, like he always has, but no…he can't. He's just not feeling it. At all.

Castiel senses his changing mood – gentles their kiss, curves his feathers and wings up to rest at Dean's shoulders, cocooning them both, and his hands wrap around the demon, pulling Dean closer into his lap. The demon whines but goes, biting down on Castiel's fill bottom lip, but so gently that Castiel hardly feels it.

"I missed you," he whispers, and Dean grips his blade tightly in answer, laying it along Castiel's spine where his free hand is resting. Immediately the Angel is tense and alert, because Dean's hand is on his back and his blade lays right next to Castiel's sensitive wings, and the blue-eyed Angel stares up into his 'mate's eyes, his own wide and fearful. "Dean?" he asks, unsure and afraid, wings shifting to withdraw from Dean.

The demon can't let that happen – he grips the top joint of Castiel's right wing and pulls it to him again so the feathers run along his skin. Castiel's shaking and he knows he's making his Angel afraid. "Castiel," he whispers – it's probably the first time he's said the Angel's full name since Castiel broke, and blue eyes widen. "I'm sorry."

Castiel braces himself as the knife digs into his flesh, and the world explodes in white and red as he screams.


	16. Flight

**Title: **Flight  
**Author: **HigherMagic  
**Pairings:** Demon!Dean/Fallen!Castiel, Dean/Demon!Sam  
**Rating:** NC-17  
**Word Count:** ~2,500  
**Spoilers: **None (This is AU)  
**Summary:** Dean has to choose.  
**Notes/Warnings:** Lots of bloody, gory, evil boys doing stuff to each other. Mpreg. Character death and Torture.  
Unbeta'd. All mistakes are my own.

* * *

Castiel's room is lost in a haze of white as the Angel screams. His Grace is forced to the surface and his wings explode out of him. He clutches Dean tightly around the pain he feels – thinks he might be shattering apart at the sudden sensation.

Hell's very foundations shiver with the explosion – loose mortar and burning, ashen bricks fall around the Grand Hall and everything shakes for a brief moment. The demons pause in their work, unnerved by the sudden tremor, but it passes and doesn't repeat itself, so they ignore it after a while.

Dean clenches his eyes tightly shut, cradling the limp body in his arms, burying his face in Castiel's neck. The Angel's blood is slicking his fingers from where the knife broke skin and the demon's shaking, unable to believe what he's just done – unable to fathom the consequences.

"I'm sorry, I'm so, so sorry," he whispers, feeling tears build up behind his eyes since the first time since he broke, and they burn him on the exit but that doesn't stop him crying. He holds the limp body in his arms so tightly, feels like the flesh and bone should grind into power he's holding Castiel so tightly, but nothing happens.

Nothing continues to happen for a long moment before Castiel sucks in a deep, harsh breath, and his eyes open wide.

_"Dean_," he whispers, his wings shifting around him. All six of them. There are two that are matt black, and small like Malachai's, and he now has the giant ones used for fighting, curving around both him and Dean, shielding them from the power of his Grace. His wings – the ones for flight, the ones that Dean finds so pretty and touches so much – are not black. Not anymore – with the light of his Grace Dean can see that they're actually a very deep, royal blue. They're glorious. _"Dean_, what did you do?" Castiel asks, his wings flaring around him, stretching in freedom after so long being confined, and the demon withdraws, holding the sliced halves of Castiel's collar which flare in one last attempt at power, then fade away.

"I'm sorry," the demon whispers, throwing the collar away, kneeling back so he's no longer touching Castiel and the Angel lets him go. "I should have done that much, _much _sooner." His eyes are still closed and his head's bent down. He can't bear to look at his Angel. "Here." He holds out his blade towards Castiel. "Take it. Take it and wound me. Run. Take Malachai and run, Cas."

There's no malevolence in Dean's words, his voice, or his soul. Not for a second does Castiel think that this is some kind of trick, but there are so many questions racing through his mind, and all he can think of is that Dean just _freed_ him. Castiel can feel the hum of his Grace for the first time since he was broken, running through his veins, making him strong again. It thrums through his feathers and he feels the dark swirl of his Fall inside of him, but it's being pushed away because he may have Fallen, but he hadn't _hurt _anything. He isn't irrevocably damaged.

"Come with me," Castiel says, grabbing onto Dean's forearm and pulling the demon hard enough that Dean's eyes flash open in disbelief and confusion, his eyes gone bright green, brighter and more human than Castiel's seen him for a long time. Dean's hand tightens around his blade, still slicked with the Angel's blood, and Castiel knows they're probably running out of time – or they will if he runs and sets off an alarm. "Dean, come with me. Please."

Dean's shaking his head, though, trying to pull away. "I…I can't," he says, sounding broken but his voice is hard, his tone firm and without room for negotiation. "Damn it, Cas – run! Take our sun and your brothers and run while you still can!"

"Not without you," the Angel growls back, feeling strong with Grace and love, his wings flaring out in aggression.

Dean growls, tearing his arm away from Castiel, his eyes flashing black again. "Damn it! You and your son both – why can't you just do what's good for you, for once in your fucking life?" he snarls, tossing his blade onto the bed in front of Castiel so it's laying between them like the elephant in the room. "Why can't you just take your freedom? I'm _giving _you your life back!" He stops, and takes a deep breath, swallowing back his tears and making his voice hard again, demanding like he used to be able to do so well. "Take it, or I'll make you."

"You're a hypocrite, Dean," Castiel snarls, eyes flashing as he stands. His wings – his beautiful, massive, powerful wings – are up and out, making him look so many times larger and Dean feels cowed, for the first time around Castiel, he feels…small. "Don't you understand? You, and Malachai, and this child I'm bearing now…" He lays a hand across his stomach and Dean follows the action, swallowing again. "You are all my life and my responsibility now. How can I take my freedom if you're not willing to accept yours?"

Dean swallows again and looks down, and says nothing.

"If I were to run," Castiel says, stepping forward, gentling his voice and lowering his wings, folding them so he appears less intimidating. The demon flinches away when Castiel's hands cup his face but the Angel's firm about it, steady, and Dean doesn't run far. "If I were to escape and take everyone with me – Malachai and Gabriel and the children and the other Angels – what do you think would happen? I'm a _traitor_, Dean." His voice is low and pained, agony reflected in his eyes, and Dean flinches again at the word. "The things I've done for you go beyond what orders can justify, but you have repented. All those who repent are forgiven, Dean. Come with me – taste freedom with me."

Dean leans forward and Castiel lets their foreheads rest together, closing his eyes at the feeling of his mate's presence. He knows Dean is torn, knows the demon is so messed up right now but all he can think is _free, we're free_. Not just him. Him and _Dean_. Both of them, and they can run, and no one will catch them. Not if they do it right.

The demon's hands shake when they come up to Castiel's face, the fingers of Dean's right hand splaying over Castiel's cheek, the other knotting in the hair at the back of his head, and Dean lets their lips slide together, chaste and sweet and so unlike Castiel's known for a while. There's nothing dirty or sinful about it and for the first time Dean's mouth doesn't taste like sulfur.

"You should run," Dean whispers, when Castiel thinks he might just say yes. The Angel makes a frustrated sound, but Dean's hand silences him and his eyes open again. "You will run. Take my blade and wound me and run. Make it look like an escape. Please, Cas…" His eyes go green again, agony burning in them. "I won't see you die."

Castiel's lips thin out in a line, and Dean knows he wants to argue, but really time is growing short – Sam will begin to get suspicious soon when he finds he still can't see into this room. "Please…" Dean cards his hands through Castiel's soft hair, kissing him once more. "Fly. If you go straight out of this room, the third left leads to Malachai's room, and Gabriel's is in the opposite direction. If you pass his you have a straight shot for the Hell's Gate. You remember, Cas?" The Angel nods and Dean smiles. "Good. Good…" He takes a deep breath, averting his gaze, and steps away. There's a moment of nothingness before he goes over to the bed and picks up his blade. He looks at it for a brief moment before he hands it out to Castiel, who takes it without a word. "Make it good."

The Angel approaches him quietly, slowly, looking like he would rather take the blade to his own heart than harm Dean with it. His hand shifts and Dean shivers at the brush of fingers and Grace against what is, essentially, a manifestation of himself, and his eyes slide closed when Castiel's hand lands on his shoulder, the other angling the tip of Dean's blade up and between two of his ribs, so it will injure but not kill.

"I love you," Castiel whispers into Dean's ear, and Dean can feel the wetness of Castiel's tears, and he hisses, gripping at the Angel harshly when the blade digs into him in one swift thrust. It feels like he's being ripped apart by his own hand. "I will be back for you."

Dean's knife burns into the demon's flesh for a split second before Castiel pulls it out just as swiftly, so at home wielding it because he's been on the receiving end for so long, and this is _Dean_. It's like he's touching Dean, holding this knife, and it seems as natural as anything to use it as easily as his own. The demon falls to his knees, clutching at his side, and Castiel knows Dean will tell him to run now and the sooner he runs and is free, the sooner he can come back for his mate. He flees the room, so much faster with his wings in full use, and first goes for his son, then Gabriel. He will free as many of his brethren as he can on the way to the Hell's Gate. He will not let Dean's gift be for naught.

* * *

Dean knows Sam will be angry. Still, nothing could have braced him for the wrath that is aimed his way when Sam finds him, wounded and alone in an Angel's room after the panic of the Angels escaping.

Castiel has created chaos in Hell. Dean feels a burning sense of pride swell through him amidst the pain of his wound and the agony of Sam's torture. His brother is merciless – he has had enough of Dean's games and ploys and tricks, of his disobedience and treachery. He's tied Dean back to the rack – back to the thing that created Dean in the first place. He intends to wipe the slate clean and start all over again since it's obvious he didn't get it right the first time.

Castiel managed to free Malachai, Evelyn, Tristan, Gabriel, Anna and her daughter, and Balthazar and Kushiel. He got most of the children and he would have gotten Uriel out too if it hadn't been from a well-aimed strike of a demon blade. Dean had heard the Angel's Grace flare, whine, and die out. He's sure that the sight of all the Angels and half breeds fleeing Hell would have been marvelous, and he clings to the knowledge that Castiel is gone, and free. He might not be safe but he's definitely free, and he's not _here _anymore, and that is enough to ease the demon's heart.

Sam's blade feels cold and piercing as it slides into Dean, just managing to shear his skin into two clean pieces. He's skinning Dean alive and the demon's screaming because it hurts so fucking much, but on the end of his screams is triumph. Triumph because he's _won_. The Angel's didn't win – Sam didn't win. _He _won.

He's laughing, delirious with pain, tears mixing with blood and sweat and his hands are clenched so tightly, and he's jerking against his salt-lined iron restraints, gasping as Sam digs in his knife into his rapidly-beating heart, letting blood gush out around Sam's wrists and pooling around the floor underneath the rack. Sam growls at Dean's laughter, baring his teeth, and moves his blade up to slice across Dean's throat so he's too busy choking on blood to laugh.

"You will pay for everything," Sam snarls with a deadly certainty that would make Dean afraid if he wasn't so far gone. Castiel's _free_, and he's still got part of Dean there with him. Dean doesn't need to be here if he doesn't want to be. The pain is background and foreground at the same time – debilitating and negligible. Sam's blade is cold and his hands burn and the air is still and warm.

Dean misses the feeling of the sun on his face, and the feeling of wind. He wonders what it would be like to fly.

_"I will be back for you."_

"You and that pretty Angel of yours will pay for this."

Dean laughs again, hysterical and out of his mind with pain. "You will never catch him. I taught him everything I know which is damn sure more than I taught you." Sam growls and twists the blade and fresh tears spill out over Dean's cheeks. "He's too smart – you'll never catch him." He laughs again. "You lost your best," he accuses, turning his pain-blackened eyes towards Sam. "You killed Alistair and now, without me, you've lost the one man capable of breaking Angels so completely, of catching them and making them want to serve. The half breeds, too, are _mine_ more than they ever were yours. They are righteous and pure and good and loving and they are more _me _than they can and will ever be yours, and you _know _this and you can't _stand _it."

Sam's lips twist in cruel dissatisfaction, and he moves away from his brother. His eyes slide into yellow marble as he thinks, pursing his lips and tapping his finger against them. "No," he says after a long moment. "He loved you."

Dean shakes his head, grinning with blood coming out the corners of his smile. "No, no he didn't love me," he replies, doesn't know whether he's actually lying or he believes it himself, and it shows in his voice and the way Sam's brow furrows. "He doesn't care about me."

The Boy King loses himself in thought for another moment. "Even if that's true, which I sincerely doubt, your spawn will want to free you, and those Angels are too good to leave the one they were meant to rescue in the first place, and the one that eventually freed them and who they became devoted to, down here. They are loyal to you, you say? They're yours? Then they will want their Master back." Dean's eyes widen and Sam's smile turns cruel and knowing again. "They will be back for you, and that's when I will strike them down."

"No," Dean gasps, shaking his head vehemently, "you're wrong, you're wrong. They won't come back."

Sam 'hmm's, and twists his blade again, hook catching on the edge of Dean's left ventricle and tugging it open so blood wells up and spills over his opened chest. "We'll see," he whispers softly, yellow eyes tracking the play of blood over Dean's stomach and chest.

"We'll see."


	17. United, We Fall

**Title:**United, We Fall  
**Author:**HigherMagic  
**Pairings:** Demon!Dean/Fallen!Castiel, Dean/Demon!Sam  
**Rating:** NC-17  
**Word Count:** ~2,900  
**Spoilers: **None (This is AU)  
**Summary:** Dean's chosen.  
**Notes/Warnings:** Lots of bloody, gory, evil boys doing stuff to each other. Mpreg. Graphic Torture.  
Unbeta'd. All mistakes are my own.

* * *

The encampment is tense, but that's a good thing. Castiel would be worried otherwise.

Tristan and Malachai are close – very, very close, and they wrap themselves up in each other's wings, like their wings can lock together and their feathers grow spines and hold on. It's an oddly endearing sight, seeing the mix of mottled black, grey, silver, green and yellow curving around the two half breeds.

Everyone is afraid. That's a good thing too – fear will keep them alert. Castiel sighs, approaching his older brother who is conversing with Gabriel. The fight has left them tired, but not actually wounded – there are very few injuries to heal over with damaged or fallen Graces. Kushiel throws Castiel a look when he approaches.

"What do we do now?" she asks, and Castiel almost snorts at the fact that a near-Archangel is asking _him_ what they should be doing. He's just a lowly Seraph, after all, but they're looking to him like a General. Like he's Michael. Like he's Dean.

His hand tightens on Dean's blade and he swallows. It sounds crazy, but he can almost _feel _Dean through the thin, sharp piece of metal. It feels like the iron and silver is writhing under his grip and he knows, somehow, that wherever Dean is, he's in a great deal of pain. "Everyone that is fit for it can return to Heaven, or do whatever they damn well please," he says, straightening up again and meeting his sister's shocked eyes. "I, however, am going back."

"Going…_Castiel_…" Kushiel reaches forward, her hand shining with Grace, but Castiel steps back and puts distance between them, his upper lip curling back in a silent, warning snarl. He doesn't want to be touched by her purity. She hasn't fallen – she is still fit for duty in Heaven. "Why would you want to go back there?"

"Because Dean is there," Castiel states, like it is the most obvious thing in the world.

Kushiel swallows, her expression torn, but Castiel can read in her eyes that she thinks he's gone insane. He can't blame her – no one wants to go back to Hell willingly. Not even demons. Instead, she turns to Gabriel on this, the Archangel watching his Seraph brother with intent, knowing eyes. "Gabriel, talk sense into him, please."

"No," he replies, looking at her, and Castiel's eyes flash to him in shock. "Castiel has Fallen – he is not for Heaven anymore. Neither of us are. And he will need someone with him who is good at hiding. Neither of us can return home with our tainted Grace, and frankly, I _left_ there for a reason – you must all fly back before you are arrested for helping the demons or some other made up crime."

Balthazar and Anna overhear the conversation, and they leave the half breed children to come and join the other Angels. Of all of them, Balthazar is the only one who didn't break, who didn't bear children, but Castiel does not admire him for it – he didn't break because Dean didn't care enough to break him. Their quota was already very much fulfilled and Dean preferred seeing the pain on the Angel's face, knowing that Castiel was no longer his. He couldn't do that if he was a mindless, broken drone.

Castiel's mouth twists in distaste at seeing the brother who betrayed him, but he fights back the urge to step away from Balthazar. "What about the half breeds?" Anna asks, looking over her shoulder towards her daughter, who is curled up with her wings around her on the edge of the camp. She is a tiny thing and looks too frail to stand. "What about our mates?"

"Mates?" Kushiel repeats in disgust, her wings flaring angrily as she hisses at Anna. "What mates?"

"Some of those demons are kind, Kushiel," Anna replies defensively. "Adam Milligan is a good soul." She wraps her arms around her stomach, her wings hunching forward protectively. "I would be glad to rescue him from that awful place."

"He is a _Winchester_," Kushiel hisses in reply, as thought that quality was enough to condemn him. Perhaps it is.

"I will not go anywhere without Dean," Castiel finishes just as surely, his hand tightening on the demon's blade. "We know the terrain, we know the soldiers and I know their numbers – Hell, I'm essentially one of them. I know where Dean will be taken and I can follow this," he held up the blade, "to his soul. I watched him rot in Hell once – I shall not do it again."

"Going back there is a death sentence. Would you walk back into the arms of the enemy you escaped from?"

Castiel snarls, rounding on Balthazar, who had spoken. "It was Dean who gave me his blade. _Dean_ who demanded I wound him to make it look like an escape. I did not steal it – there was nothing like an opportunity in this. He begged me to run and leave him behind, and I _promised_ that I would be back for him." The Seraph straightens, his Grace flaring black, wings shifting uneasily around him, largest pair still flared to make him look bigger, and more aggressive. "I know loyalty doesn't mean a thing to you, but it sure as Hell does to me."

There's a long pause, the Angels staring each other down, before Castiel flattens a palm to his own, slightly rounded stomach. "I owe him that much," he whispers.

Kushiel's pretty face wears an expression of hatred, seeing the gesture and being reminded of the half breeds, of the things she was broken to bear – her spawn of evil and malice and Grace and more powerful than Angel and demon both. "Those things ought to be destroyed," she snarled, pointing towards the half breeds, and Castiel's wings flare in aggression, joined by Anna and, to Castiel's surprise, Gabriel.

"You will not touch them," Castiel growls, his eyes going marble blue and Kushiel recoils from the sight of the Fallen Angel, glowing with dark Grace and holding a demon's blade, carrying a demon's child.

"You are not allies of Heaven anymore."

"Then I would suggest you leave, if you are," Gabriel replies coldly, power radiating off of him in waves, the Archangel rising to the surface. He's the only one also not wearing a collar, as Castiel had had to sever it for Gabriel to be able to fly. "And I'd do so quickly. My patience is running thin with you."

Kushiel and Balthazar take a step back, expressions twisted in disgust, and then with a flap of their wings, they are gone. Castiel lets himself deflate, and turns to his older brother, gratitude clear on his face.

"Thank you, brother," he whispers, reaching out with his tainted Grace, gratified further when Gabriel doesn't recoil from the darkness of it – no, instead Castiel feels himself become wrapped tightly in the glow of Gabriel's own darkened Grace and he sighs, relaxing in his big brother's hold and soaking up the warmth and comfort. His eyes fall closed for a long second, and when they open again they are bright and shining and blue once more, with iris and pupil. "We are hunted."

Gabriel nods, looking to Anna, and then the half breeds, then finally to Castiel. "But I am good at hiding," he says with a smile, and then gestures towards the children. "Gather the sons and daughters – I know somewhere that will be safe while we plan."

Gabriel takes them to a secure location. Castiel doesn't know where it is, and it's probably safer that way so he doesn't even ask, but the place is very heavily warded. He can feel the weight of the power of the sigils and spells and enchantments Gabriel has woven over the place to hide it. It's so deeply entrenched in magic to hide it, both Pagan and holy, that Castiel thinks, in a brief flight of fancy, that it's not even on Earth anymore. It's nowhere.

Malachai finds him watching the sunset, the half breed's great wings curled around himself tightly or pinned to his back, and Castiel can feel his anxiety as he approaches his father and sits down next to Castiel, wings sprawling out again and resting against the Fallen's. Castiel's holding Dean's blade to his stomach – can't bear to let it go for even a second. He wants his second child to be near its father and, right now, this is the closest way to do it – holding Dean's soul in his hand and pressing it against the growing baby.

He almost jumps when Malachai's hand joins his, slipping under the thin shirt that Gabriel had given him to conserve his modesty. He feels almost confined, wearing clothes after so long being open with nowhere to hide.

His son's dark green eyes meet his. "This…is okay, right?" he asks nervously, smiling in a way that drives a spike of longing through Castiel's heart, because that expression is _Dean_. It's almost his Cheshire cat smile without the razor edge.

"Of course," he replies, moving so that he can wrap a wing around his son, pulling him closer. "I thought you were asleep," he whispers into the dark hair.

"Couldn't sleep," Malachai replies, resting a hand on Castiel's stomach, the other thumbing over the edge of Dean's blade, almost hard enough to break skin. "I…I miss my father," he confesses, like it's a weakness, like he will be punished for it, and he buries his face under Castiel's arm, hiding away.

"My baby…" Castiel is shocked at the reaction, and moves so he can hold Malachai's face, though it's a little awkward because he still refuses to let go of Dean's blade, and he wipes at the half breed's tears with his thumb. "That is nothing to be ashamed of. I miss him too." He closes his eyes, and rests his head against his son's, and hears the boy's deep, shaky inhale. "But I am going to get him back, and we will be a family again. You'll see."

"I'm coming with you," Malachai says after a moment, and Castiel's eyes flare open, flashing marbled in shock and sudden, debilitating fear. _No_. He did not just rescue Malachai so that he can stroll back into Hell. His son sees the expression and shakes his head, a twist to his mouth that is all determination, and it's Castiel's expression. He recognizes it. "I mean it. If you go, and you fail, and you either die or are kept there, I want to be there too. I want _both_ my fathers. _Both of you_." He moves his hand again, resting his palm over Dean's blade, and Castiel thinks that, for a brief moment, the metal stops writhing. Dean can feel them. "We all feel that way, you know." Dark green eyes meeting the Angel's confused blue. "Tristan, Evelyn, me…Luke and Sofia…All of us who were old enough to be trained – we've been made to fight. I have no illusions about that. I know what I was made for, but I don't want to strike against Heaven. I don't want to serve Sam – Sam is wrong. Anyone who would make someone kill their own mate is _wrong_." Castiel flinches, remembering the feeling of Dean's blade pressing against his back, the demon shaking in his arms and pressing apologies into his neck with his lips. "And we are powerful. Tristan, Evelyn…they hate their father. Sam is evil, and a tyrant, and he should be destroyed."

Castiel's eyes widen and he looks towards his son, his firstborn. "I am talking of rescue, not revolution," he whispers, voice hushed because if Dean can feel them, then he can hear them, and perhaps anyone that is listening might be able to hear them too.

Malachai's eyes flash, and his mouth twists into another determined 'Castiel' expression. "Yes." It's all he says, but it's all he needs to say. He straightens, getting to his feet, wings flaring out around him to balance and help him up. "Tristan, Evelyn and I have been talking. We're the oldest. At the very least we should go with you. And, if you try and leave without us, we will go anyway." He turns around and goes back inside, and Castiel thinks he feels a surge of pride coming from the tie of Dean's blade to his soul, and he smiles despite himself, looking back out to the darkening sky, and rubbing his swollen stomach.

"That's your son," he says, to no one in particular, and the knife warms up a little in his hand in response.

* * *

Dean's in pain.

It's not surprising – shouldn't come as a shock to anyone. He's long ago screamed himself hoarse and now, well, now he's just laughing. It's silent because he has no throat left or voice box, but that doesn't matter – Sam can still hear the accursed laughter in his head. Sam has never liked too much noise – it distracts him and messes up his brain so it's difficult to think – and Dean is deafening him.

_You've got no finesse, Sammy!_ Dean's shouting, shouting in his head when he turns his black-ringed green eyes towards his little brother, who snarls and twists his blade inside of Dean's still stubbornly-beating heart. _If you'd spent less time working over maps and more time fucking me and learning things, you'd have broken me all over again!_

Sam snarls once more but Dean just grins. Blood wells up behind his teeth and he turns his head away. His body is completely flayed open but he's either beyond the pain or he's a very good actor. Sam's inclined to think the former 'cause Dean never could lie worth shit to him.

Of course, that's still operating under the assumption that Dean _was_ loyal, at some point.

_Then again,_ Dean continues conversationally as Sam goes back to the tools lining the wall, pulls off nails and a hammer and pincers meant for pulling out nails. _Didn't work so well the first time, did it Sammy?_ He's singing, now, singing his words to the tune of 'Stairway to Heaven', and the cheesy irony of that sets Sam's teeth on edge. _Break the Master, break the servants. This just _isn't _your day, is it, Sammy?_

"Shut up, Dean," Sam growls, his eyes flashing yellow.

_Wonder how the big boss is taking it,_ Dean continues, still humming his words like there's a tune in his head that he can't quite remember and he's trying to think of the words._ Big Z and L. Know you're their bitch-boy, Sammy, know you take their orders. Wonder how they liked the idea of all those Angels and half breeds – powerful SOBs – just flying out of here, Bye Bye Birdie?_ Dean cackles again, loudly, in his head, mouth open and blood leaking out the sides of his mouth as Sam sets the nails down by his head, staring down at his brother.

"It didn't have to be like this, Dean," Sam whispers with sorrow in his voice, as though he was capable of still feeling such things as sadness and regret.

Dean's head lolls back towards Sam, and he's still grinning, too widely, and blood's leaking out of his nose now too. Even behind his eyes, Sam thinks, as the black turns back to green but there's red around the iris.

"Yes, Sam," Dean says, swallowing back his own blood, and then he spits it out to one side. His throat moves with blood glistening on it, and acid burns on his face and down his neck from Sam's touch, and speaking even those two words hurt like _Hell_, but hey, when in Rome, right? "It did."

* * *

They leave Anna behind with the children that are too young to come. Castiel's not happy even taking Malachai, Tristan and Evelyn, but they are the oldest and they are trained fighters and Evelyn is the best Healer Castiel's ever seen, so really they are more asset than liability. Gabriel, too, is joining him. The Archangel looks fierce, holding his blade again like it's an old friend, without the collar around his neck, and his eyes glow. Castiel thinks of the things he did to his brother, or had his brother do to him, under Dean's coaxing and tutelage, and he swallows. He's not…_guilty_, per say, because they were Dean's pleasure and Castiel lives for Dean's pleasure, but he does feel a small bit of regret that Gabriel could not find the happiness he did in that God-forsaken place.

The Archangel meets his eyes and smiles. "Relax, little bro," he says, placing a hand on Castiel's shoulder, and the Fallen's Graces meet and Castiel feels a little of his tension melt away. "It'll be a cake walk."

Castiel forces his smile to widen, and grips Dean's blade in one hand, the other clenched into a fist and pressed tightly against his side. He casts his eyes outward, prepared to fly back into Hell, and he doesn't want to go, but he needs to. He's afraid he won't make it out, but he trusts his children and Gabriel more than he did Balthazar, and besides, Dean's waiting for him on the tail end of either success or failure, so it can't be all bad.

He swallows again, grip tightening around the blade. "Are we ready?" he asks, looking around. Malachai nods, wings flaring, a determined look on his face, and his cousins are equally focused. Evelyn's palms are already starting to glow. Anna hangs back with her daughter and Uriel's children, and Gabriel's youngest child. His wings flare out. "Alright. Let's fly."


	18. Search And Destroy

**Title:**Search and Destroy  
**Author:**HigherMagic  
**Pairings:** Demon!Dean/Fallen!Castiel, Dean/Demon!Sam, mentions of Sam/Fallen!Gabriel  
**Rating:** NC-17  
**Word Count:** ~3,400  
**Spoilers: **None (This is AU)  
**Summary:** Castiel's going to get Dean out of that Hellhole (literally), whatever it takes.  
**Notes/Warnings:** Lots of bloody, gory, evil boys doing stuff to each other. Mpreg. Graphic Torture.  
Unbeta'd. All mistakes are my own.

* * *

_"Cas?"_

"Sam."

The demon turns around, eyes blank and yellow. "I knew you'd come back for him." His lips curl back in a sneer. "Where are the others?"

_"Dean. I'm here, Dean, I'm here."_

"They're around." A solid look, exchanged between long enemies and, God help them, business partners. Glowing eyes meet glowing eyes and Sam advances.

The Boy King smirks. "You won't hide forever. I know everything that goes on here."

_"No, Cas, no – can't be you. Not you."_

_"Dean."_

_"Dad? Come on, let's get the hell out of here."_

_Dean laughs._

Gabriel's mouth twists into a grim expression. He weighs his blade in his hand as Sam pulls out his own, the Archangel's wings flaring up in aggression and readiness. "Your children grow strong," Gabriel whispers, like that knowledge alone breaks him, staring up into Sam's glowing yellow eyes.

The demon snorts. "Glad they at least got some good genes, then."

He strikes.

_Grab your gun; time to go to hell. I'm no hero, guilty as charged.__  
__Search and destroy._

"Cas?" Dean's eyes widen a little, seeing the bright visage of someone who may have been a memory, or may have been some twisted imagining of his own, which is strange, 'cause Sam's actually pretty good at keeping Dean out of his own head, whether he's using his cock, his blade or his words. But no – three blinks later and Castiel is still there. Dean frowns.

He's covered in blood. Not the pretty kind of blood, either – no, this kind shines with a sickly kind of green tint to it that reminds Dean of vomit and bile, of all the bad things about Hell, and he blanches as Castiel approaches. The air seems to heat up around him and distorts like in the desert, heat rising off the sand and making the air wave.

_Found my faith living in sin. I'm no Jesus but neither are you, my friend._

Dean…does not look good. The Seraph's wings tremble, and it's not just with exhaustion from fighting his way through the gates and down the Circles until he'd reached Dean's prison. Looking at his mate, Castiel's hand tightens around the blade he carries – a blade that is slick with blood and pus – and snarls in righteous fury. Dean's body has been skinned, almost completely ripped to shreds and put back in a way that would make Frankenstein's monster envious, like some fifth grader tried to stitch him back together with hot glue and crude thread made of pipe cleaners. The demon's soul trembles inside the open chest cavity, blackness surrounding his beating heart in a twisted kind of poetry that has Castiel swallowing so that he stays focused, stays in control.

His smallest set of wings shift around him, and he raises his head, his eyes shifting to a deep, marble blue that has Dean sucking in a rattling breath around his dying lungs.

"Fucking _gorgeous,_" Dean growls, managing to sound no less lustful, no less powerful even chained down as he is on the rack, completely at _someone else's _mercy, and Castiel swallows, and wonders where Dean's torturer is, but he doesn't have the time for this. He steps closer and Dean's skin shivers, especially when Castiel holds up his blood-covered blade – _Dean's blade_, and the demon's eyes land on it knowingly. "Come to finish me off?" he asks with bloodied teeth and a too-wide grin.

Castiel starts, looking at his mate with wide, confused eyes. "No, Dean, I will not hurt you," he says, sounding a little torn about it.

_I'm a whore, a birth of broken dreams. This simple answer is never what it seems._

Dean's head lolls back. "Come on, Sam," he grits out, eyes flaring green, fists clenching as he strains against the salted iron holding him down. "Just finish me off. Breathing's awfully hard without lungs. Make me new, huh? S'been a while since you fucked me." He rolls his hips to demonstrate. "I could get behind that."

He sounds completely wrecked, like he shouldn't be speaking at all – it reminds Castiel of the crunch of gravel and when bodies land against cliffs.

Castiel balks in disgust, hatred towards the Boy King flaring in his damaged Grace, realizing that Dean must think Sam's messing with his mind again. "Dean," he whispers, stepping forward, his wings curving up, huge and powerful and protective, around them both. "It is me."

Dean shakes his head again, sighing and he won't look Castiel in the eye. "Don't, Sammy. Please," he whispers, closing his eyes, and the darkness around his heart pulses. "You've got my blade. You've got him. Don't hurt him. Please."

"_Dean_," Castiel repeats, more insistent this time, and takes Dean's chin in his hand, turning so he's watching Castiel and has no choice but to make eye contact. Dean's eyes flutter open and he looks so vulnerable for a moment, that it damn near breaks Castiel's heart. "It _is _me."

"No -," Dean whispers, sounding _broken_, because if Castiel is here then that means… "Cas, you stupid son of a bitch." He growls, rips his head away from Castiel's grip. "I told you not to come for me."

_A million little pieces we've broken into. A million little pieces I've stolen from you.__  
__Search and destroy._

"This is the only order I shall ever disobey," Castiel swears, with the powers of Heaven, Hell and Earth in his voice, as he grabs at Dean's forearm, "if only you will come with me now." He brings Dean's blade down on the iron chains, and the demon screams as his blade skates along the strong, magic-enforced metal, but it is no match for the strength of the Righteous Man's soul, and it shatters with a ringing sound that would rival an Archangel's scream.

"Please, please, no, stop…" Dean babbles mindlessly, tossing his head along the burning, acid-covered metal, blood welling up in his mouth and he looks afraid. He looks _broken_ from the inside as he struggles, pulls his now-free forearm away from Castiel and rolls, covering his torso like an animal, but he doesn't get far. The chains were angled so that Dean's feet and hands were tied together, and then to his neck, so he has enough freedom to drop down onto the other side of the rack, but can go no further – the chain around his neck chokes him if he tries. Dean coughs, curling in on himself, blood pouring from his open mouth and his open chest, his heart beating frantically and the wild darkness inside of him pulsing even more so. When Castiel tries to approach, Dean snarls, his eyes flaring black and deadly, and strikes out at Castiel. Out of nowhere, it seems, he conjures another blade. A second blade.

_Castiel's blade_.

_Sold my soul to heaven and to hell, sick as my secrets, but never gonna tell._

The Seraph halts, eyes widening when he sees the blade capable of destroying him, and he swallows. "Dean," he whispers, kneeling down so he's at the same level with the panting, trembling demon soul. Like this, with their roles so reversed, Castiel feels like this is the chance he should have had – should have rescued Dean first-try, with his Brothers at his back and the Righteous Man right in front of him, within arm's reach, wielding a blade capable of destroying them both. "It is me, Dean. My love, my mate, my entire being." Castiel reaches forward with a trembling hand, and Dean must either be in too much pain or in too much fear, for he trembles but doesn't retreat, and Castiel takes his hand and places it against his middle wing, the middle pair that stayed out when Castiel had worn the collar. "Feel my wings," he whispers, leaning closer, and Dean blinks, staring at him like a wild animal, his fingers tight around the blade and he angles it in, threatening Castiel with the tip of it but the Angel presses onward. "Feel your blade, feel how it flares under my touch." To demonstrate, Castiel tightens his grip on Dean's blade, rubs his thumb over the 'blunt' edge like he's seen Sam do, and Dean stiffens, arching with a low, pained sound. "'Feel that?" There are tears welling up behind Castiel's eyes and he's not sure why, so he swallows them back and presses on still. "Do you feel me, Dean? I am me."

_I'm to blame. Burden of my dreams. A curse of faith and a blessing I believe.  
Search and destroy._

Dean's eyes finally, and with clarity, lock onto his. "You are Castiel," he whispers, but there's no revelation in it. It's more like acceptance – passive acceptance like when grade school students learn the names of all the bones in the human body. Like he sees no reason to accept anything else.

Then, there's movement near the door and Castiel straightens, ready for trouble, but it is just Malachai. Malachai, whose hands are glowing with dark green energy, whose eyes are rings with black and whose teeth are bared and savage. His wings have been ripped – the smallest pair are shredded. Castiel feels revulsion and horror sweep through him, but then Dean's wheezing breaths draw his attention again.

"Malachai, I will need your help," he calls, and the half breed is by his side within seconds. Dean's eyes flash open again, hearing the wings.

"You," Dean whispers, delirious and sweaty with fever. His eyes are falling closed for longer periods of time. He's not responding to things as much, and Castiel hurriedly shatters the other set of manacles with Dean's blade, earning a low moan of pain. "You…Malachai…" Dean reaches out, finds the boy's knee and grips it with a blood-slick hand. "Fucking clone of your father," the demon grunts, grinning with bloodied teeth and Malachai damn near sobs.

"Yeah, Dad," he says, leaning down and gathering Dean with his wings, the strongest pair, while his flying ones flare out behind him. He will carry Dean and Castiel will lead the way, as well as make sure everyone else gets out alive. "Come on. We're gonna go somewhere now." Dean hums, his eyes closing again, and Malachai feels him go limp. "Dad? Dad!"

"Come on, boy – we don't have time for this," Castiel insists, standing, feeling the energy of Dean's blade falter for a brief second. He cannot spare much of his Grace to heal Dean, but what he can give, he gives with all his heart, managing to seal up Dean's chest and quiet the rushing of his blood from his mouth. "Follow me."

They don't make it far.

_Let go._

Gabriel's a fighter – he's _the _fighter, really. The General stays behind and overwhelms enemy morale and then, when necessary, he will ride out to the thick of the fight. But _Gabriel_ is the one that leads the Seraphs into battle, that laid waste to Sodom and Gomorrah, that holds power of life, death and resurrection over much of God's creation.

When Sam strikes at him, the Archangel is ready. His eyes glow and slide into a marbled kind of off-white, mixed with veins of hazel and honey. His wings flare up around him, an unfathomable amount flaring up and striking at Sam while the demon crowds his space, tries to force him back and into a position of weakness.

"Where will you go, when this is over?" Sam asks, growling as he aims his blade at Gabriel's heart, but the Archangel parries it, and it goes through his wing instead. Gabriel hisses, expression twisted in pain as his feathers turn to ash around the touch of Sam's blade, and his skin bubbles and black blood gushes from the wound, before he shoves Sam away and tears his blade out.

"I have my hiding places," Gabriel replies, lunging forward, and Sam parries him expertly, a much better fighter than Gabriel had anticipated, but that's okay, because he's still got the advantage. While it's still just him and Sam, alone in here, he's alright.

Sam's moving backwards, down the corridor, and Gabriel follows, pressing on the gained ground. Sam's expression is a mix of hatred and determination. His blood has a sickly black hue to it when Gabriel sheds it, running down the side of his face and from a cut on his shoulder where Gabriel's blade had gotten lucky.

Sam presses back again, reaching to a closed door behind him and fumbling with the handle. "Come on, come on…" he growls, and finally throws the door open and jumps back into the room.

Gabriel stops. Something stops him. He looks up, and then around, then to the panting demon, twisting his wrist to loosen the kinks of wielding his blade after so long being out of practice. His wings are trembling and blackened, with barely any of their original color left to be seen.

Sam's eyes hold a challenge. "Come on, then," he growls, holding up his blade in readiness. Gabriel stiffens, flaring his wings out again, but still holds himself back because…there's a faint, thrumming power in the air. He can taste it. It tastes like his own hiding places – places that cause damage to unwanted visitors.

He takes a step back, and around him a high-pitched wailing sound is raised. It's Castiel's call – they've gotten Dean. They have to go now. "I have other places to be," the Archangel snaps, his eyes going back to their normal honey-brown, staring back at the demon who had been his 'mate'. "Invitation only. Sorry, Sammy." Then, he flares his wings out again, turns, and flies.

_Let go. Let me go. Let me go._

Gabriel finds Castiel, Malachai and Dean standing on one side of a hoard of demons. They're blocking the Devil's Gate – the entrance and exit into Hell that Castiel, Gabriel and the half breeds had taken. They're trapped inside.

"Where are Tristan and Evelyn?"

"We don't know," Castiel replies coolly, looking over at his Brother with marbled blue eyes, and Gabriel swallows.

"Shouldn't we go looking for them?"

"No time."

"Damn it, Cas!" Gabriel snarls, eyeing up the demons that are just watching them. Waiting. Biding their time. Their black eyes and souls send shivers through Gabriel and the Archangel tightens his grip on his blade. "They're my children."

"Yes, Gabriel, I know."

"Well?"

Castiel turns his head a little. "Well, what?"

"Shouldn't we go back for them?" Castiel doesn't answer. "Damn it, Castiel – if it was Malachai left behind you would tear the damn place apart looking for him. Just because you have your family back doesn't mean you have the right to stop giving a crap."

"What would you like me to do?" Castiel growls, whirling on his Brother, eyes glowing and wings flared in aggression. Gabriel takes a step back involuntarily. "We have demons at our backs, demons at our front! We cannot hope to make it through the entirety of Hell searching for two half breeds when we are so heavily surrounded! Dean's _dying_, Gabriel." The Seraph swallows, taking a step back, and takes a deep breath to calm himself. "I'm running out of time."

"I can heal him," Gabriel murmurs in reply, placing a hand on his Brother's shoulder, noticing how Castiel shakes. "Brother, if I have to, I would tear out my Grace for your mate. But these are my _children,_ and I cannot just leave them behind."

Castiel bites his lip, looking into his big Brother's eyes, and then he nods, swallowing. "We have to get Dean and Malachai out of here – when they are safe I will stay with you and help you search."

"Like Hell I'm just leaving you guys here!" Malachai snarls, suddenly speaking up, glaring at his father and uncle. "I'm not just -."

"_Listen, _Malachai," Castiel says, cutting him off, rounding on his son and taking his face in his hands. Dean's soul is like a barrier between them but that doesn't matter because they're running out of time. Hell's foundations seem to be shaking. "If you are anything like me, you will follow this order – just this once. Please." Malachai swallows, closing his eyes, and nods, and Castiel presses a light kiss to his forehead. "I will return. I swear it."

"Castiel…" The demons are beginning to approach them, now. Their eyes are focused on the Seraph and Archangel. Castiel shoves at Malachai's shoulders, pointing him towards the dim light of the open Gate.

"Go! Fly!"

Malachai pushes himself quickly into the air, and Castiel and Gabriel draw their blades. The Seraph has both Dean's and his own, and the two blades shiver and spark, so close to each other. Castiel feels himself thrum with energy and bares his teeth in a savage smile, ready to shed demon blood as his natural Grace calls him to do.

"Mal!"

The half breed turns around, still flying, sweat dripping off his face from the heat of Hell and the weight of his father's body, and cries out in relief when he sees his cousins following along behind. They're carrying something between them but Malachai can't tell what it is, before he must turn back around and regain the height he'd lost while coasting.

"Dad! Gabriel! They're here – fly, fly!" he yells as loudly as he can. Hell's foundations are shaking even harder – stone is falling from the ceiling and Malachai has to swerve to avoid the falling rocks. One catches his strongest wings and he dips at the sudden change in weight, gritting his teeth and forcing himself to keep flying, all of his wings straining to carry the weight of his father and himself, and get through the falling rocks without hurting himself.

The light of Earth – he can see it. Behind him, something has burst into flame, and it's getting closer. There's heat and brightness that's blinding the half breed and so he slips into his black demon vision to try and shield his eyes and he's only partially successful. He can hear wing beats behind him and he prays that there's four sets of them, but he can't tell because of the ringing in his ears.

The Gate is shutting – they're running out of time. Malachai's tired but he's not going to die down here, so he pushes up with one final surge, screaming as the burning light starts to catch up with him. He feels a hand around his, and he opens his eyes to see his father, with one hand gripping him, the other on Dean's shoulder. The Seraph's wings are beating strongly and he wraps his son and mate up in his strongest pair, carrying them both. The ringing is getting so loud that Malachai feels blood running out of his ears, but he keeps flying because there's no reason not to.

The Angels and half breeds burst out of the Gate right as it slips closed, and fall to the ground. Exhausted, wounded, they hit the Earth hard and roll until they stop, colliding with leveled trees and gravestones, and Tristan growls out as he lands on a mausoleum roof, cracking his shoulder and sending it out of joint, but he holds onto his prize with his sister, because they can't let it go.

Castiel staggers to his feet, panting hard, and unfolds his wings, looking at his son and mate. Malachai's tired but he looks okay – nothing that some good healing won't cure, and he's lucid and able to focus on Castiel's face, but Dean…Dean won't wake up. He barely makes noise when Castiel rolls him, but Castiel can feel his soul still there. Dean's not dead, not yet.

They don't have a body for him – for now, Dean must be held inside of a host, and so Castiel draws the demon into himself, because he's the closest thing. The Angel's Grace wraps around his mate, shielding him with his darkness and he feels Dean briefly uncoil, before locking on and holding fast, and Castiel gasps, falling to his knees again.

"We did it." Castiel looks up. Gabriel's standing over him, bloodied and dirty but triumphant. Castiel smiles tiredly, cocking his head to one side, spitting out blood onto the ground. Gabriel's lips quirk up in reply.

"Yes." Castiel closes his eyes, pets over Dean's essence and feels the demon stir inside of him, spreading out, making himself at home. Already, without the tie of a physical body and surrounded by Castiel's essence, he feels Dean get a little stronger. He sighs out a low sob, closing his eyes, and drops to his hands and knees on the ground, wings falling around him.

"Dean Winchester is saved."


	19. Host

**Title:**Host  
**Author:**HigherMagic  
**Pairings:** Demon!Dean/Fallen!Castiel, Dean/Demon!Sam, mentions of Sam/Fallen!Gabriel  
**Rating:** NC-17  
**Word Count:** ~  
**Spoilers: **None (This is AU)  
**Summary:** Time to share the spoils of their victory.  
**Notes/Warnings:** Lots of bloody, gory, evil boys doing stuff to each other. Mpreg. Graphic Torture.  
Unbeta'd. All mistakes are my own.

* * *

Castiel jolts awake in the middle of the night, his wings unfurling and flaring around him in defense. He feels like he's being watched, like something's gaze or presence is weighing heavily on him. Of course, that's silly – Gabriel had taken everyone to one of his most secret hiding places, back to Anna and the rest of the children. Everyone was safe. Everyone is safe.

But…

_"Cas?"_

Castiel releases his breath, sagging in relief. It's Dean. "Hello, Dean," he whispers, laying back down and closing his eyes, feeling the weight of the demon's essence inside of his vessel. It's a little cramped with the both of them in there, Castiel trying not to crush Dean under the weight of his presence, but Castiel finds the discomfort small in comparison to the knowledge that Dean is finally back with him.

The demon stretches out a little, uncoiling and sliding around Castiel's grace like water over rocks. _"Where am I?"_ comes the demon's voice, a little wary and frightened.

"Inside of me," Castiel replies.

Dean laughs. _"Naturally," _he whispers, and Castiel feels him shifting and moving a little again. The Angel's eyes open a little, sliding into marble blue as he shifts against the bed, feeling Dean curling up around a part inside of himself that is not himself.

"Dean, what are you doing?" he asks.

_"Shh, Angel," _Dean replies, uncoiling a little more, spreading out and soaking deeper into Castiel's essence, navigating the innermost parts of the Angel like he's been doing it all his life. _"I'm just looking around." _Castiel sighs when Dean entraps the part of Castiel that is not Castiel. _"There's my boy._"

Castiel smiles, placing a hand on his slightly swollen stomach, and he swears he can feel Dean humming like he's pressing his palm over the demon's mouth, which is a strange thought. "You think it's a boy?" he asks, closing his eyes again and basking in his mate's presence, even though Dean isn't technically felt so much as _known_.

The demon hums gently, spreading out like an oil stain. _"Yes,_" he replies simply, and Castiel feels something like Dean placing a light kiss to his stomach and shivers, smiling, unable to help himself. Then, his eyes flash open again when he feels hands on him, touching the place where his wings come out of his shoulders, and there's a hot mouth at his neck.

"D…Dean?" he stutters out, opening his eyes and trying to look for the demon, but Dean is nowhere to be seen. All the sensations are not physical, but inside of Castiel's mind. Still, the Angel can't help but flare his wings out for his mate's hands, moaning and rolling onto his back when he feels something pushing at him, and a soft bite to the red skin where his collar had rested, and hands trailing down his sides and over his swollen stomach and to his rising cock. There seem to be hands everywhere, and Castiel whines, flattening his wings in submission to the touches when a hand cards through them, but they aren't moving. When Castiel turns his eyes to his feathers, they remain unruffled and untouched, and dry with no oil, but Castiel can _feel_ Dean touching him. "_Dean_," he whispers.

_"Shh, my pretty Angel,"_ comes Dean's voice, husking into his ear and Castiel bears his throat to the voice, mewling again when he feels a hot mouth along his jaw and pulse, but not kissing him. He _needs _to feel Dean – needs to feel the demon inside of him again, with his hands in his feathers and his manhood splitting Castiel open so deliciously. He needs to look into his mate's black-green eyes and see that Cheshire cat smile and feel Dean's heartbeat and warmth. _"Where's my body, Angel?"_

"Tomorrow Gabriel and I will fly out to remake it, and then you shall have it," Castiel replies breathlessly, gasping when he feels wet warmth descending over his cock, like Dean's sucking him down, and he arches into the phantom touch, whining a little more loudly this time, and bites his fist to try and keep silent when he also feels a slick finger pressing at his entrance, just dipping in, and closes his eyes, trying to imagine that Dean's right there, with him, and that this is all more than just a very intense mental experience.

Dean seems satisfied with that answer. _"I missed you, you stupid slut," _he growls, but there's no malice in his voice – it's playful and light and Castiel damn near sobs. _"Fucking idiot Angel – can't even obey the simple order to stay away…"_

"I couldn't," Castiel confesses, shaking his head and bucking his hips when one of Dean's fingers finally penetrates him, burying itself as far as it can go. "Couldn't leave you down there."

_"I'm glad you didn't," _comes Dean's soft reply, like a caress over Castiel's navy-blue-black feathers. The Seraph arches with a low mewl, eyes fluttering closed as he gasps again, running his hands through his own hair and closing his eyes. He feels like he's being torn apart but Dean's inside of him, white-hot and demon-black, holding him together. _"I missed you, Cas."_

The Angel closes his eyes, clenching them tightly shut as he feels hot tears of relief, joy and need well up behind his eyelids, and he sobs when they spill over him. "I love you, Dean," he whispers, because he can't not. The demon hums, and Castiel whines, baring his teeth when he feels it around his cock. His body starts glowing faintly, his Grace throbbing inside of him, trying to get out.

Dean draws back, a little alarmed. _"Cas?"_ he whispers, unsure what is happening. The Angel gasps when Dean's touches retreat, and curls in on himself, trying to regain his control.

"My Grace…" he whispers, curling his wings up close as though trying to defend himself. He can feel Dean trying to make himself smaller inside of Castiel's vessel, retreating from around his heart to his head where his Grace is not pulsing so brightly. When Castiel opens his eyes, it's with the infra-red demon filter, and he knows his eyes are black without looking. "I haven't…without the collar…" He feels at his throat, swallowing, tamping down the feeling of lust burning inside of him. He can't feel pleasure without risking Dean, without possibly killing the demon while Dean's inside of him, and wouldn't that just be a wonderful twist of irony? "I can't keep myself restrained."

There's silence from the demon for a long while, and then Dean chuckles. _"I guess when I get my new body, the training will begin all over again." _Castiel jerks, feeling hands back at his wings, along the sensitive underside, and he whines when he feels his Grace pulse again. _"I'll teach you restraint again. Gotten soft in my absence, hmm, Angel?" _Dean tuts playfully, and Castiel feels warm breath at the back of his neck, and a mouth at his ear, licking along the shell and biting down on the lobe. Castiel whimpers. _"Don't worry, pretty, beautiful, gorgeous…luce mia. I'll take care of you." _Dean backs off, then, leaving Castiel burning and unsatisfied, his cheeks flushed and sweat beginning at his temples, plastering his hair to his face. _"As soon as I get my body back, I'll make you mine again."_

Castiel sighs, feeling Dean's presence recede inside of him, the demon coiling up like a serpent and relaxing, and Castiel swallows, forcing his pulsing Grace and racing heart to calm again, and wraps his wings around himself, breathing deep and long to bring himself back from the pleasure of Dean's touch.

They are silent for a long while, before Dean shifts once more. _"How did you find me?"_

Castiel smiles, looking over to the table by his bed. Dean's blade shines alongside his, resting there in the low moonlight. "I felt you. I never once stopped feeling you. In my hand, all the time." He sighs, relaxing back into the bed. "Did you feel me, Dean? Did you hear my voice?"

Dean shifts a little inside Castiel's head. _"I heard birds singing," _Dean replies softly, almost reverently, like he's praying. _"I've never heard a bird sing in Hell." _The demon sighs, the sound full of longing and regret and hopelessness. It weighs heavily in Castiel's heart. _"I'm sorry, Cas – I'm sorry for…I don't know." _Castiel swallows, but is silent, letting his mate speak. _"I'm not sorry for what I did – I can't be. You're too fucking gorgeous for your own good, Cas – too fucking pure and pretty and I _had_ to have you, and I will keep having you over, and over and over…" _He trails off, voice a growl of promise and Castiel shivers. _"…But I probably could have done better. I should have been able to do right by you in the first place. I…I didn't have to make you Fall, but I did anyway and…" _The demon trails off again.

"It's okay, Dean," Castiel replies, because he knows what Dean cannot say, and knows what Dean feels he should say but won't. "I regret nothing that I have with you." The demon shifts again, this time letting out a little moan of contentment, and Castiel closes his eyes once more, letting sleep creep into the edges of his consciousness. "I am yours."

_"Mine_," the demon purrs in agreement, and they drift off to sleep together.

* * *

Gabriel stares in horror at the demon that his twins had carried out of Hell. Tristan and Evelyn are standing proud and determined, their wings half-flared in slight aggression – they're not outright threatening their father, but they will defend their prize if it's necessary. Tristan's arm had been reset by his sister, and though it still throbbed lowly with pain, Tristan was capable of fighting should the need arise.

The demon's unconscious inside of a stronger Devil's Trap than Gabriel's seen outside of the First Fall, the first war between Angels and Fallen Angels. There are headphones in his ears and his hands and arms are bound tightly behind his back, his legs tied to a chair. Gabriel can hear the music from where he stands, even without his heightened hearing.

At a loss of what else to say, he gestures to the headphones. "What're those for?" he asks, voice hoarse and he clears his throat, wanting to put more strength into it.

Tristan smirks, cocking his head to one side. "Noise scrambles up his brain," he says, gesturing to his ear, and Evelyn smiles proudly. Gabriel's eyes widen, looking over to the demon and he approaches, cocking his head to one side again. "We altered the Devil's Trap to incorporate Fallen Angels, father, so don't step in."

Evelyn catches Gabriel's hand right as he was about to cross the barrier, and pulls him back. Her eyes flash in concern, then relief when she is able to hold him without a fight.

"You…" Gabriel shakes his head, looking towards the unconscious demon. "How did you get him? The room was sealed."

Tristan cocks his head to one side, joining his father on his right hand. "The room was spelled that only blood could enter." The boy looks to his father, smiling a little. "It burned, but Ev and I could get in for a short time and overwhelm him." The boy's eyes flash yellow when he looks back at his other father. "He trained us well."

"Very well," Evelyn agrees, nodding her head.

"I can't believe it," Gabriel asks, his voice a low whisper. "You…you caught _Sam_. King of Hell. Do you know what kind of price would be on his head? What kind of things could happen if he were to be found here, or when he wakes up?" The Fallen Angel steps back, running a hand through his hair, his eyes flashing to the golden-marble as he thinks. "Damn it, children, what were you thinking?"

Gabriel stares at his children for a long time, and they are silent and still, before Tristan approaches. "Father," he says, reaching out and placing a hand on Gabriel's forearm. "How many parents do you have?"

Gabriel frowns. "You know the answer to that."

Tristan nods, and his sister comes and joins him, placing her hand on her father's other arm. "Imagine that you had two," she whispers solemnly. "Imagine that one of them was pure, and good, and everything that you wanted in a Father – whose everlasting love and kindness overwhelmed you every time you thought of it." Gabriel swallows, for he knows that feeling. "And now," Evelyn continues, "imagine that your other parent – your Sire – is the exact polar opposite. A creature of hatred and malice and…" She hisses. "Evil. Sam is evil. He is a taint that burns in our blood and…he must repent. And if he does not repent, he must be punished."

"He is your father," Gabriel whispers.

Tristan snarls. "No. We are not for him."

"You would rebel against him."

"_You _did." Evelyn and Tristan's souls swirl with hate, with blackness that overcomes their flashing eyes and Gabriel recoils from them, his wings flaring up in defense and aggression, holding him blade up with a shaking hand, pointed towards them.

"I am not the example you should be following. Sam Winchester was a good soul before he was lost and tainted."

Tristan snorts. "And you would take the evil out of him."

"I have the power to do so," Gabriel insists, straightening. "Now that we are free, I can raze him to nothing. You will not touch him," he says, pointing to Sam's prone body, "without me here, do you understand me?"

The Archangel's voice vibrates with power, and immediately his children's wings flatten to the ground. They take a step back and bow their heads in unison. "Yes, father," they whisper, eyes closed, fists clenching, and Gabriel watches as their hands entwine together and hold fast. He swallows and moves so that he is no longer between them and the door.

"Go. Sleep and rest. Tomorrow I am sure that there will be things to discuss," he says, gesturing to the door and they shuffle out obediently. When the door closes, Gabriel sighs and turns his eyes to Sam, who is still unconscious. Blood drips from his nose and the music is deafening, and Gabriel walks forward, kneeling on the edge of the Devil's Trap. "Those are your children," he whispers, looking up into Sam's slack face. The Archangel's wings tremble and he bows his head, fisting his hands in his hair. "By God, I hope I can save you. I hope I can cleanse you, because if I can't…" He closes his eyes and shakes his head – he cannot bear to think about it.

He doesn't move from that spot until sunrise.

* * *

Dean's body was never buried. He'd made the deal to join Sam in Hell, and so when the Hell hounds came and ripped him apart, his body was left there. It's now little more than a skeleton with pieces of rotting flesh stuck to it. When Castiel touches ground, he looks at what had once been the great man with sadness.

_"Jesus,_" Dean whispers. _"How long have I been dead?"_

Castiel closes his eyes. "I don't know," he whispers softly. "Time is so messed up in Hell. But I would guess, from the state of decomposition, a little more than a year."

_"Fuck,_" Dean says, and Castiel can feel his stretch and uncoil, uncomfortable so tightly confined within the Angel. _"Will you be able to make it up again?"_

Castiel nods. "I can certainly try," he says, and kneels next to Dean's skeleton, placing a hand on the skull.

He closes his eyes and sense his awareness outwards. Everything that is Dean, he latches onto and drags back. The bugs that tore at his skin and the bacteria that broke down his flesh. The acids that overrode his intestines and stomach and the air that took away the remains of the respiring bacteria. It's a long and exhausting process – by the time Castiel had even made up the layers of muscle, the sun is setting and he has been at his work for seven hours.

It takes Castiel four days to completely make Dean's body new. He's amazed no one has found him yet, but that doesn't matter because, when he opens his eyes again, Dean's face is there. His eyes are closed, his skin pale, and he looks at peace. He looks like the newly dead. Castiel closes his eyes again and gathers up Dean's essence, shoving it up towards his vessel's mouth.

"Leave me, Dean," he whispers, and then chokes. The taste of sulfur and iron fills his mouth and he gags, clinging to his throat with his other hand as he bends over himself. Dean – the big, black cloud of billowing smoke that is the demon – pours out of his mouth, but slowly. More trickling than anything else, as though the demon is either too tired or too reluctant to come out of him. _"Leave me,_" Castiel commands, his true voice vibrating in the words, his Grace pulsing, and the demon slides out of his mouth easily, and disappears into the still vessel.

For a long moment, all is silent and still, and then Dean's eyes flash open and he takes a deep, long inhale, sitting up suddenly, so quickly that he almost knocks their heads together. He's clutching his heart, feeling no heartbeat there, and then closes his eyes, and it starts to life. His palms warm up and his body starts to work again. He can feel himself heating up like a mammal, his eyes adjusting to the different lights and his ears hearing sounds like Castiel's breathing and the scurrying of animals and people talking outside. The air is dry when he drags it in but it doesn't burn like Hell did. He's…_fuck_, he feels _alive_.

A hand is on his shoulder, and it hurts. It burns. He hisses and recoils, looking to his shoulder and seeing a handprint there, burned into his flesh.

His eyes turn to Castiel. "I had to seal it up," the Seraph murmurs, his voice low with awe, his eyes dark. Dean swallows when Castiel's wings curve forward towards him, brushing down his naked calves and his fingers touch Dean's face, shaking with exhaustion and emotion. _"Dean_," he whispers, his eyes sparkling brightly, voice low like he can't believe this is happening. The demon's eyes want to close when Castiel touches him, but he can't because he won't miss a minute of that. "Dean…"

It seems all the Angel's capable of saying, so Dean cocks his head to one side and tugs on the Angel's wings, pulling them close together. Castiel gasps, suddenly across Dean's lap, all six of his wings surrounding them both, and he opens up sweetly to Dean's kiss, letting the demon into his mouth, reveling in the taste of sulfur and blood that he had come to know, love and miss. He mewls, fisting his hands in Dean's soft hair, tugging them together as Dean's fingers stroked up and down his spine.

"Mmm," the demon purrs, grinning a Cheshire cat smile when they pull away for air, his eyes sliding to black, "been waiting to do that for too fucking long, Angel." Then, his hand is back in Castiel's hair, tugging them together and Castiel has no choice but to go, like he would rather do anything else, and his moans are swallowed by Dean when the demon reaches down to wrap a hand around Castiel's half-hard cock, jacking him off smoothly and quickly. "Come on, pretty," Dean growls, nosing along Castiel's jaw and finding his racing pulse when Castiel eagerly bares his throat. "Know you needed it – acted like a perfect little slut for it the other night." His other hand trails around Castiel's waist and he hooks a finger, dry, into Castiel's entrance. The Angel bucks, mewling, feels like he's burning from the inside. His skin is starting to glow and his eyes slide into blue. "That's it…so fucking pretty, Cas – _mine_, all mine, no one else's." Castiel's not even sure if Dean knows what he's saying – he's just spewing out random filth, whatever comes to mind but, God help him, Castiel's _loving _it.

He gasps when Dean bites his neck, licking along his pulse and the hollow of his throat, his finger sliding deeper and pressing perfectly against his prostate. _"Sodalis meus, Angelus meus, mihi venit."_

The order slides deep into Castiel's Grace, like the penetration of Dean's blade for the first time, and Castiel moans like a wounded animal into the sweaty, new skin of Dean's neck, his arms and wings and ass clenched tightly around the demon, and he spills between them at Dean's command, shuddering, his Grace burning but, thankfully, not escaping his body. It's been so long – too long, and it feels like forever before Castiel can think of a word that isn't _Dean, Dean, Dean, Dean…_

The demon smiles at Castiel when the Angel lifts his head, petting through Castiel's hair gently, and he pulls them down for a more chaste kiss. Castiel shivers when Dean murmurs 'Good boy' against his lips.

* * *

_"Sodalis meus, Angelus meus, mihi venit." – 'My mate, my Angel, come for me.'  
'Sodalis meus' _can also mean_ 'My enemy', _and_ 'mihi venit' _can also mean_ 'forgive me'.  
_Take it how you will.


	20. Aftermath

**Title:**Aftermath  
**Author:**HigherMagic  
**Pairings:** Demon!Dean/Fallen!Castiel, mentions of Dean/Demon!Sam, mentions of Sam/Fallen!Gabriel  
**Rating:** NC-17  
**Word Count:** ~4,000  
**Spoilers: **None (This is AU)  
**Summary:** The aftermath is almost as bad as the war.  
**Notes/Warnings:** Lots of bloody, gory, evil boys doing stuff to each other. Mpreg. Slight mind-fuckery.  
Unbeta'd. All mistakes are my own.

* * *

When Castiel wakes up, it is to the sound of someone moving around the room he's in. The Angel sits up, unable to sense any foreign, unwanted presences, so he is not alarmed – Dean's essence is the only one he senses nearby.

The demon's staring out the window, leaning against the panes, his eyes closed, his forehead pressed against the cool glass. When Castiel moves, he opens his eyes and looks towards the fallen Angel, then smiles a little and returns to gazing outside.

"I remember the Hunt that brought me here," he whispers, cocking his head to one side. "I figured I had enough time to gank the monster and save the family. I was just going after it when the Hell Hounds came. I thought I would have had more time." He sighs, his eyes tracking the movement of a human outside, before he turns away from the window. His hands dig into the pockets of jeans he'd found in the master bedroom. They're a little loose but they will do for now. "I wonder if the family made it out alive. I wonder where they are."

Something flares inside of the demon, glowing white-hot for the briefest second. Castiel's eyes lock on it and don't move away. His attention is drawn yet again when Dean sighs and scrubs a hand over his face. "I'm a fucking demon, Cas," he mutters, leaning heavily against the wall. Castiel, at a loss of what else to do, takes a step closer. "I'm evil."

"Your soul still shines, Dean," Castiel whispers, finally approaching the demon, and taking Dean's face in his hands. His thumbs stroke over the back of Dean's hands until the demon's hands move away. He looks tired. More than that – he looks downright exhausted and world weary. Castiel's never seen him like this before.

"I'm…I don't know how to be good, Castiel," he says, shaking his head, sounding like a child. "I'm a bad man. I've done awful…_awful_ things."

"You repent."

"Not really."

"You freed me."

"I -." Dean pauses, looking into his Angel's eyes, as though the thought has only just occurred to him. Castiel smiles, resting his forehead against Dean's and the demon's eyes fall closed again. His exhale is shaky and soft against the Angel's parted lips as Castiel hums softly.

"You disobeyed your mate, your King, and you rebelled, for me, and our son, and my family."

The word forces a reaction out of Dean – the demon sobs, and tosses his head, forcing Castiel's hands away. He pushes at the Angel's shoulders, walking to the other side of the room, trying to get away, and holds his head in his hands. "Family," he says, snarling the word, and turns on Castiel. "I betrayed my _family _for you – my _brother_. God…_Sammy_…" Dean swallows, looking away, down to the bloodstain that had marked his body's resting place. "I..he's still down there. He's all alone, in Hell, without me."

"No, Dean, he's not," Castiel replies, hating how distressed his mate is getting over his monster of a brother's supposed state. When Dean looks at him, with hope shining in his green eyes, it makes Castiel's feathers ruffle – makes him want to hit the demon, or something. "Sam is alive, on Earth, with Gabriel and the Children."

"He's…" Dean looks down, shaking his head again, and he's _smiling_. Castiel fights the urge to snarl at him. Dean's eyes close and he sighs. "God, Sammy's alive. Thank God…"

"You shouldn't be thanking _God_," Castiel snarls, finally snapping at Dean. He strides forward, his wings flared out in aggression. Whether that reaction is more surprising than the fact that Dean actually finds himself cowed by it is a matter of perspective. The demon shies away from the display of power, unused to Castiel actually being _able _to be powerful. Without the collar, Castiel's skin _glows_ and his eyes flash, and Dean knows the Angel's fully capable of smiting him to oblivion. "You should be thanking Gabriel, and your son, and his children too. You should be thanking yourself for ever thinking of breeding me and Gabriel out, or thanking Sam for letting you keep me, and train Gabriel, or you should thank _me_, but _never, ever_ thank God." Castiel's largest wings flare out again, and then stab into the drywall on either side of the demon's body, so Dean has nowhere to run or hide. "That son of a bitch had nothing to do with any of this."

"_Cas_." Dean's hands are shaking. Castiel's never seen Dean's hands shake – ever. And even if he had, it would never have been because of fear. He had begun to think that the demon could no longer feel fear, but Dean's afraid right now. He's afraid of _him_, of Castiel. The Angel jerks away, his eyes wide, and for a moment both creatures just stare at each other.

Finally, Castiel forces his wings to flatten to his back, smoothing out his feathers, and he swallows, taking a deep breath. "I'm sorry," he whispers, waiting until Dean meets his eyes before carefully approaching again. Dean sighs and closes his eyes when Castiel's hands land on him, and the Angel presses a kiss to his forehead. "I'm sorry, Dean – I didn't mean to snap like that." The demon sighs gently, nuzzling into him and Castiel lets him.

"He's my brother, Cas," Dean whispers, like it's the most obvious thing in the world – like nothing else matters as long as this remains so. "He's…I love him." Dean opens his eyes, biting his lower lip, as though fearing being smote for the words.

Castiel sighs. "I know," he replies, curving his flying pair of wings around his demon, who hums and burrows into the soft, warm feathers. "But Malachai is your son, and I am…I am yours also." He swallows, unable to say 'mate' because he's not sure if Dean sees him like that – _will _ever see him like that. Sure, Dean had called him his mate, but it also meant enemy – the demon gives nothing away. Dean just hums softly in agreement. Castiel smiles a little; "You know, I don't think anyone who can create half of Malachai can be evil."

The demon's arms tighten around him. "Is he okay?" he asks, worry coloring his voice. "He…When you found me, he was there. Did he make it out alright?"

"Yes, Dean, of course he did," the Angel replies, smiling again. "He is strong and healthy, back at home. Come on, Dean – let's go home, and you can see your family for yourself." He takes Dean's hand, pulling him towards the door, his wings flaring out. "All of your family. Come on."

* * *

Flying is _glorious_.

Dean's a little shaky on the details of being carried out of Hell. All he can remember is light and heat and the sound of screaming that had burst his eardrums, or whatever part of his soul had manifested as his eardrums. It's complicated and Dean's trying not to think about it too hard.

But when Castiel wraps his largest pair of wings around Dean, shielding him in the not-there feeling of the sleek, strong things, and wraps his arms around the demon as well and takes flight, it's…there's no feeling for it. It's the best feeling Dean's ever known – to be free, able to go anywhere and do anything with nothing to restrain you or hold you back. Just him and Cas and the birds.

Dean used to be scared of planes when he was human. Seems silly now that he's basically a cloud of black smoke.

* * *

Castiel frowns, watching Dean closely when Malachai comes out to greet them. It's obvious that Dean isn't sure what to do – the demon's hands are clenching and unclenching, and he keeps swallowing like he's nervous. His eyes are black and his body language is defensive, like he's not sure if he's going to be attacked or not, but he's preparing for the worst. Castiel pets a hand down Dean's back – it's a soothing motion for an Angel – but it just makes Dean tense up further and growl at him.

The half breed approaches his father like Dean's a wild animal – it's probably smart. Dean _feels_ like one. The feeling of the air, cool and pleasant on his skin, is foreign and almost abrasive after the rough edges of Hell. He can hear birds singing, and the sound of the trees shifting and groaning as they grow or are pushed about by the wind. When Malachai is barely a foot away from him, Dean suddenly lashes out, pulling the boy into his body.

"Dean!" Castiel cries out, shocked and worried, but the demon growls at him and, after a split second of flailing, Malachai's wings smooth out in relaxation and calm, the boy staying stock still in his father's hold. The fallen Angel swallows but subsides.

Dean pets through his son's hair, looking him over with dark eyes. Malachai just watches him, breathing hard, his heart hammering out of shock and fear, but Dean's just petting him, like he's a dog or some other pet, but his touches are slightly too rough, like he hasn't gotten used to touching anything gently in a long time and he's trying to readjust. The demon leans forward, resting their foreheads together and inhaling the scent of Malachai's breath, breathing into his son's open mouth for a long moment like horses do when they greet each other. "You're so _bright_," he whispers, sounding like that knowledge breaks him. His hands are still shaking.

"Dad?" Malachai whispers in reply, unsure how to respond, but he's terrified of breaking Dean's gaze so he doesn't – not until his father blinks green eyes back at him. "Dad, are you okay?"

"Castiel." The fallen Angel turns to find Gabriel standing in the door to his house, leaning against it with his arms folded across his chest. He looks tired, and behind him Tristan and Evelyn loom like shadows, peering out over his shoulder to their uncles and cousin. "Does Dean know?"

The Angel nods.

"Good," Gabriel says, straightening. "Because I think there is a way I can help him."

Castiel straightens, his eyes widening in disbelief and hope. "You can?" he asks, unable to disguise the excitement in his voice, but there's something inside of him…something that growls at the idea of Salvation for Sam Winchester. He tamps down that fire very quickly. "How did you find it out?"

Gabriel swallows, looking down a little guiltily. "I prayed," he says, and Castiel's eyes widen in shock again but he quickly smoothes his expression. "I think that there will be a way to banish the taint of evil out of him, to make him almost new, like his soul was six months old again. Or, perhaps, if we cannot get that far, to before he went to Hell."

Castiel cocks his head to one side. "Banish the evil?" he says, repeating the words, and his brother nods, still looking down. "To where?"

Gabriel winces, obviously hoping Castiel wouldn't have asked that, but the Archangel sighs, running a hand through his hair. "I'm a little shaky on the details for that part, but I think I could…maybe, contain it, so that we could destroy it, or maybe send it back to Hell. It would be like…like Sam was made new – everything that makes him human, would still be there…just without all the evil."

Castiel's eyes narrow. "That sounds a little too perfect, Gabriel," he says slowly, unable to help how his feathers start to stand up on his flight wings, making him look bigger in a defensive display. Gabriel swallows but holds his ground, meeting his brother's marbled eyes head-on.

The Angels don't look away from each other until Castiel feels a warm hand buried in his feathers, and he turns his head to see Dean watching him with a calm expression that means he's thinking way too much. "I want to see him," Dean says softly, but firmly, giving no room for argument. "I want to see Sammy."

Gabriel inclines his head, and steps away from the door. Tristan and Evelyn disappear into the shadows behind him as Dean steps inside.

* * *

Sam's awake when Dean steps into the room, and the Boy King snarls, curling his upper lip and struggling in his chair, but the ropes hold fast and he can't think properly – there's a base beat in his ears, a cacophony of sound and it's screwing up his thinking. His eyes glow bright yellow and, behind his face, Dean can see the demon evil.

"Dean," he growls, shaking his head, trying to dislodge the headphones, but they're not coming out any time soon. "Please. Get me out of here."

The older Winchester swallows, looking behind him, but the Angels and children haven't entered the room – they're hovering behind him. Castiel watches him with cautious eyes, like he's not sure what Dean's going to do and Dean swallows again, trying to figure out the difference between what he feels he should do, and what he _actually_ should do. It's hard, thinking like a good guy again – he isn't used to it.

He cocks his head to one side, and closes his eyes, and tries to think of what Castiel would do. What Malachai would do. What his…he swallows – what his _Dad_ would do.

He knows the answer, but it tears him apart.

He opens his eyes again, looking into the marbled yellow of his brother, sees the evil that didn't used to be there before Sam went to Hell and he spent an entire fucking year trying to follow him down there. "We're gonna make you better, Sammy," he whispers, fighting back tears when Sam just keeps struggling – he's not even sure Sam can hear him, but he needs to say it anyway. "We're gonna make you alright again."

"Damn it, Dean!" Sam snarls, and Dean takes a step back when Sam looks at him again, because his little brother…_fuck_, he looks like _Sammy._ With his brown-hazel eyes and pouting lip and furrowed brow, with the puppy dog eyes that have annoyed the living crap out of Dean ever since Sam was old enough to know how to use them. Like this, Sam looks so fucking young and innocent and…and like he _can't_ be evil. "Come on, Dean, it's _me_. It's Sam – your little brother. Come on, Dean, you _know_ me, and you'd toss me to…_them_?"

Dean swallows again, crossing his arms over his chest. "They're gonna help you, Sammy."

"Fucking hell, Dean, can't you tell when someone's lying to you? Your little whore's managed to _poison your mind,_ Dean, managed to get you to do whatever he wants – he's gonna make you get rid of me, and then they'll go for you! What will you do then?"

Dean shakes his head, taking another step back. He can't look at Sam – "You're lying, Sam," he whispers, unable to stay in the room for much longer. He can't help it – his entire existence is for Sammy, protecting him, keeping him safe, and even as a demon that instinct has just become more…base. Sammy's only safe when he's with Dean, around Dean, and…and he can't let Sam keep going like this. But he can't turn his back on Sam. He needs…

He turns around, trying to find his Angel's eyes and Castiel's there, his eyes dark and knowing and comforting, when his arms wrap around Dean and pressing his palms against the demon's chest, letting Dean lean back against him. Dean sighs and takes a little bit of comfort from the Angel's swirling, beautiful Grace.

Sam's suddenly laughing. When Dean opens his eyes, Sam's watching the both of them. "You're pathetic," he spits, the yellow coming over his eyes again. "You think _he_ can be for you what I am? That _he _can own you and protect you and guide you like I can? You'll come crawling back to me eventually, Dean – I suggest you earn my good favor again before you do."

Dean swallows again when Sam starts laughing once more, and it seems like he's not going to stop any time soon – the laughter has a hysterical edge to it, and Dean flinches at the idea that Sam might actually be losing his mind. He exits the room, Castiel following behind, and they close the door with a hollow snick-clang. Dean can still hear Sam's laughter.

He turns to Gabriel. "Fix him," he says softly, his eyes bright and liquid green. "I don't care how you do it, just…just make him better. Please. You have to make him better."

Gabriel nods, laying a hand on Dean's neck, despite Castiel's slight growl as a deterrent. "I swear on my Grace," the Archangel whispers, "that I will try to save your brother."

"Thank you," Dean whispers, resting his forehead against Gabriel's for a brief moment, and then he lets Castiel's possessive hands pull him back. "Thank you."

* * *

Gabriel's home is perfectly situated in mountains that technically don't exist – in the days the sun shines brightly and the air is warm and still, and at night a pleasant breeze roves in from the distant sea, gentle and pleasant over Dean's feverish skin. The demon's sitting in the room that Castiel had claimed for them, staring out of the window, toying with the edge of the Angel's blade. When Castiel enters the room, he doesn't give a sign of hearing until Castiel has gone to the bed, sitting down in the middle with his legs crossed and his wings falling, lax, on either side of him.

"Am I doing the right thing?" Dean whispers, coming to join his Angel on the bed. Castiel shifts back to give Dean room, letting the demon sit and mirror his position, laying the blade between them.

Castiel cocks his head to one side. "Do you think you are?"

The demon growls; "Don't answer a question with a question, Cas – you're worse than changelings." Castiel still doesn't reply, and Dean looks away. "Adam's still down there," he says quietly, fingers reaching down and toying absently with the crease of a sheet. "They might not take kindly to Winchester blood. Or he might take over. I don't know." He sighs, closing his eyes, and looks back to the Angel. "I hate not knowing, Cas. I hate feeling like this."

"Things will work out," Castiel replies, and Dean snorts bitterly, smirking. "I mean it, Dean – if things don't fall into place naturally, then we will fix them. I promise you." He leans forward, taking his mate's face in his hands, and places a light kiss to Dean's forehead. "I will keep you safe. I will give you everything you need."

Dean chuckles, eyes closed, and sighs. "I don't think you can do that," he says, shaking his head and looking away.

For a split second, everything is still, and then Castiel growls, pulling Dean closer to him and turning them so that the demon's on his back on the bed. Castiel's wings flare to compensate, and his eyes glow, and the overall effect is pretty damn intimidating. "You think I can't own you like Sam can?" he whispers darkly, moving so he's crouched over Dean, his hands strong on Dean's shoulders and Dean shivers when he feels Castiel's hand close over the handprint, sending an electric shock of _want_ through him.

"I…_Cas_," Dean gasps, eyes closing, and Castiel growls, grabbing Dean's chin in his hand and yanking the demon's head up.

"Keep your fucking eyes open," the Angel demands harshly, biting his words, and Dean whines, baring his teeth, his body going lax underneath Castiel, trusting and submissive and _wanting._ "That's better." Castiel smiles, eyes flashing, as he leans down and pauses, less than an inch from Dean's open, panting mouth. His tongue lightly traces the gap and he pulls back before Dean can meet him, making the demon whine again, and he chuckles as his other hand cards through Dean's hair, holding the demon's head at such a height that he feels the burning of the position in his shoulders, but not so much that he can prop himself up on his elbows to give himself respite. "I have spent many years as a slave to your whims, Dean," Castiel whispers, "I have learned so much from you, and from Sam – I am fully capable of ripping you apart, piece by piece, and making you feel every atom being destroyed." Dean whimpers, head falling back, baring his throat for the Angel, and Castiel lowers his body, able to feel Dean's hardness between his legs. "I am capable of dealing out centuries', maybe more time than that, worth of hatred, and pain, and love, all out on you within a second and make it last forever in your mind." Castiel lets Dean's head drop but the demon doesn't fall – he stays up like he somehow knows Castiel wants him to, breathing heavily, eyes almost completely black as he leans up, wanting some contact between himself and Castiel but the Angel leans back and denies him. "Outside of Hell, Dean, you are practically powerless, and I am not. Never forget that."

Dean's breath comes out in a breathy whimper – his body is burning under Castiel's touch, and his blood feels like it's boiling. "_Cas_," he whispers, unable to really compare this powerful, knowing creature to the thing he had broken, that had born his children and submitted to his blade. He sighs in understanding, falling back to the bed. "You never broke for me, did you?" he asks, his eyes gone back to green as he looks up at Castiel.

The Seraph cocks his head to one side, pursing his lips, before he leans down and slants his lips over Dean's, purring into the demon's mouth as he strokes over Dean's arms, before sealing his hand over the print he'd burned into Dean's skin and soul when pulling him out of Hell. "Perhaps not," he replies when pulling away from the breathless demon, and Dean whines, hands closing around Castiel's thighs, trying to arch his back and grind their cocks together, to get _some_ friction. "But I did Fall for you."

Dean stills, breathing heavily, flushed a little, looking up at Castiel. "Would you do it again?" he asks, almost shyly, biting his lower lip, and Castiel smiles, and leans down again for another kiss, that is chaste and teasing and tingles with Grace and the demon's soul, darkness twisting and entwining together like lazy serpents. Castiel sheds Dean's clothing and then his own, kneeling between the demon's spread legs, and to Dean, it feels like he's being burned, branded by Castiel's hands and his lips and his cock as the Angel finally claims his demon, his mate once again, laying his mark on Earth and Hell and the In-Between that they may or may not be in. Dean clutches to Castiel's shoulders, his wings, his hair, anything and everything he can reach.

When they are done, Dean feels Castiel's warmth all around him, inside and out as Castiel's wings wrap around him and pull him close, and the demon swallows and closes his eyes, and forces himself to sleep, because he knows that, outside of Castiel's wings, the world will wait – the world holding his dead brother trapped in Hell, and his other one kept prisoner inside this very house, and the son that he's not sure he feels he can be around, and the Angel he stole from Paradise. The aftermath and consequences of his actions, but they can wait for now. Dean burrows closer and falls asleep to the sound of Castiel's breathing and the rhythm of his feathers being ruffled by the soft breeze.


	21. Sacrifice

**Title:**Sacrifice  
**Author:**HigherMagic  
**Pairings:** Demon!Dean/Fallen!Castiel, Demon!Sam/Fallen!Gabriel, mentions of Dean/Sam.  
**Rating:** NC-17  
**Word Count:** ~3,300  
**Spoilers: **None (This is AU)  
**Summary:** No one saw this coming, and it's only the start.  
**Notes/Warnings:** Lots of bloody, gory, evil boys doing stuff to each other. Mpreg. Death of minor characters and brief, PG kissing between a minor and Dean.  
Unbeta'd. All mistakes are my own.

* * *

Dean wakes up a few hours later, to the sound of Sam screaming. He winces and burrows deeper into Castiel's arms, knowing that what he's doing is the right thing – helping Sammy, making him better, is the right thing to do. The _good_ thing to do.

He closes his eyes and covers his ears, and remembers why doing the right thing was always so fucking hard. Castiel turns closer, his eyes also closed, his breathing even in sleep or rest – Dean's not sure if he even needs sleep – and he curls one giant black wing around Dean, pulling him closer, and the sounds are muffled somewhat. The demon swallows and tries to find rest again.

* * *

"_Dean!"_

Sam's screaming his name. Dean can't take it – the mindless wails and grunts and screams, yes, but not his own name. Not his little brother calling out for _his _help, and being unable to do anything about it. The demon is up and out of bed before he can even think about it, but he doesn't make it to the door. He chokes, falling to his knees, feeling like a heavy weight is pressing against his chest, and looks behind him to see Castiel, arm outstretched and facing him, keeping him in place.

He growls threateningly. "Let me go, Castiel."

The Angel's eyes flash, and he swallows, but his hand doesn't move. "Come back to bed," he whispers, just as another scream ricochets through the house. Dean flinches, baring his teeth in a whine, on his hands and knees like a fucking animal, and everything that makes him _Sam's_ – that makes him a big brother – rebels at being held down by another when Sam needs his help.

His body aches from Castiel's pleasure and touch, from what they did last night – Dean closes his eyes. It's been a long while since his body knew the feeling of being split open and torn apart, though his soul is well accustomed to it. It's purity and knowing, chastity and lust, burning him. He opens eyes that are just barely tinged black around the edge, and forces himself to his feet, and turns around to face Castiel.

"Why won't you let me see him?" he asks, and in his voice there is a challenge, even though he won't meet the Angel's eyes. Castiel sighs, getting to his feet, and his manner…it's so like _Sam_, like Castiel can't be pandering to Dean's every whim and sooner or later the demon's going to have to grow up. But in Castiel's eyes there is no exasperation and frustration – just pure, glowing _love_, and it hurts to look at, so Dean doesn't.

The demon closes his eyes when Castiel brushes fingers down the side of his face. "Sam's healing will still be in the early stages," Castiel whispers, brushing his lips against the corner of Dean's mouth. "Demon blood is a poison, Dean – and his blood is full of it. Gabriel will have to search through and destroy every part of Sam that is evil, filled with that taint, and the process could be long, and agonizing to watch. Until there is real hope, don't fill your heart with falsehoods that Sam is anything but okay right now."

Dean sighs, raising his hands to his face and framing his eyes with his hands, fingers digging into the corners of them, thumbs pressing against his cheeks. He takes a deep breath and it shakes, like he's fighting back tears. "I can't just listen to him like this, Cas," he says, voice rough like a blunt blade, and Castiel swallows.

"Do you want a distraction?" he asks, and the demon nods. "Maybe…maybe you could go training, or teach our son about other supernatural things. You were the best Hunter, Dean – you still are. Maybe…you can look back on your old life, and remember the way you used to be, if you meant what you said; that you wanted to be good again."

"I didn't say that," Dean can't help but point out, snorting bitterly. "I just said that I couldn't remember how." Castiel swallows again but doesn't say a thing. The Angel's fingers curl under Dean's palms and force his hands away from his face, and Castiel presses their cheeks and jaws together in a brief gesture of affection.

Finally, Dean draws away, and heads back to their bed. Castiel waves the door closed and soundproofs the room, just to be sure. The windows and curtains are open and the morning sunlight streaks in through the room, lighting up the bedroom and its occupants in soft dappling. Dean sits down in the middle of the bed, and reaches over to where his and Castiel's blades lie, side by side, and sets them down in front of him.

Castiel watches as Dean's hand hovers over the blades, and then finally he touches fingers to his own. Sigils flare to life on the side of the dark metal and Dean smiles, moving his fingers to the handle of his blade and then onto Castiel's. The Angel shivers, wings spreading a little, feeling the touch like a caress down his spine.

His eyes fall closed, and a muted whisper of the demon's name falls past his lips before he can stop himself.

Dean notices – his eyes flash over to the Angel and he smiles, curling three of his fingers around the handle now, twisting it a little in his warm grip with his thumb. "Can you feel me, Castiel?" The Angel's full name rolls off his tongue like a purr, and he grins when Castiel shudders in reply, folding his arms over his chest, digging nails into his biceps. His cheeks are starting to flush. "So pretty, Angel, and deadly, and powerful…" He moves his other hand and lays his palm on the blade, pressing down hard enough that his palm is sliced open, and Castiel gasps at the surprising intimacy of the action, of feeling Dean, all warm and slick around him. It's like Castiel's fucking him, and Dean probably knows that, the sneaky bastard.

Dean grips Castiel's blade in his blood slick hand, a little too tightly, so he cuts himself a little deeper, Castiel sinking deeper into the rift between his flesh, and the Angel shivers, going to the bed and into his demon's arms, wings flaring up to expose the underside for Dean's other hand, and the demon smiles, petting him, dragging his fingers loosely through the soft, thick feathers, and he tutts. "Haven't been taking care of yourself, Angel," he whispers, half-scolding, half stating fact. There's no threat in his voice so Castiel stays relaxed, even when Dean's hand skates down his chest and flattens over his curved belly. "It's not just you you're taking care of, you know."

"I know," the Angel replies, a little contrite, because it's true – he hasn't given a thought to his wings or his child, his only focus on escaping, then hiding, then rescuing Dean – there just hasn't been time to give himself a thought.

Dean makes a frustrated sound. "I can't believe I'm actually going to have to wait for him to come out," he says, still stroking over Castiel's stomach, and the Angel sits down, the heat of the moment dying for now, replaced with something softer and more like love and less like lust. Dean smiles and lays down next to him, forsaking Castiel's blade and grabbing his own, and he lays it over Castiel's stomach, resting his head on the Angel's chest. "In Hell, I could have just left the room for a day and come back when he was already born." He sighs, dragging the tip along the rise, poking it into Castiel's navel.

"But what good would that be?" Castiel says, because it seems like Dean's waiting for an answer, but the Angel's not sure what Dean wants him to say – there seems to be a slight tension under the demon's words, and Castiel has no way of telling what he's thinking – he's trying to give Dean's mind some privacy. "You were there for Malachai's birth."

Dean smiles. "Malachai," he whispers, moving the blade so it's laying in the junction between hip and thigh, away from the baby. "Yeah. That's true." Dean sighs. "I could feel you, you know. And him. And this little guy inside of you, when I was in Hell."

Castiel swallows. "Well, I did have your blade," he says.

Dean hums noncommittally, then sighs and nuzzles into Castiel's chest, his eyes closing. Castiel, unable to help himself, starts petting through Dean's hair gently, stroking it away from his face – Castiel had recreated it a little too long, maybe, but he likes it this length. He can actually drag his fingers through it this way.

"Where are we?" Dean asks after a moment, and Castiel looks at his mate's face, but Dean's eyes are closed, his expression relaxed, even if there is a little furrow in his brow, and Castiel strokes his thumb over it until it smoothes out.

The Seraph smiles a little. "I have no idea," he replies honestly. "If I had to guess, I'd say we are in a recreated New Zealand, but somewhere in the In-Between that isn't actually on Earth."

"No shit," Dean replies, sounding amused and awed all at once, and then he sits up. "I…I don't even know…" He swallows. "I want to go see Bobby. And Ellen and Jo and…" He swallows again. "But they wouldn't be very happy to see me, now would they?" Castiel sits up too, stroking a hand down Dean's back to soothe him, but he doesn't know what to say to make things better so he doesn't say anything at all. Dean winces when a particularly loud scream makes it through Castiel's soundproofing. The Angel jerks, not having expected the sound, and the soundproofing falls along with his concentration, letting in the sounds of more panicked yells that are not Sam's. Immediately Dean pushes Castiel to one side and shoves himself to his feet, ready to go investigating, and Castiel's following right behind.

Luke, Uriel's son, and Sofia, Anna's daughter, are both collapsed on the ground, shivering and shaking as though struck with fever. Immediately Dean rushes to their sides, feeling at their foreheads, his face a mask of concern and anxiety. Malachai comes rushing from the direction of Sam's room.

"Did you see what happened?" Dean asks his son.

Malachai looks panicked and worried, his feathers standing up on his flight pair of wings, his defensive pair flared out. "There was this…" He shakes his head, pressing his fingers to his temple. "Gabriel was doing something to Sam, and this huge black smoke cloud came out of Sam's mouth, and then…then I heard Luke and Sofia screaming."

"Black smoke cloud?" Dean repeats, his voice low with dread and fear, eyes wide, and Malachai nods. Dean then turns to Castiel. "Find out what the fuck's going on," he demands, his voice hard and gruff and Castiel doesn't even think about disobeying – taking orders all those years, one does develop a little habit of obeying. He rushes to Sam's room and finds Gabriel inside with Tristan and Evelyn, who are standing like sentinels on either side of their Sire, and Gabriel's arm is buried deep in Sam's chest, his face twisted into an expression of concentration.

"Brother," Castiel whispers, hurrying forward so he stands and looks over Gabriel's shoulder. "What is happening?"

"The evil is trying to escape," Gabriel mutters in reply, his voice strained like he is trying to lift a very heavy weight. "I tried taking pieces but they slid out of my grasp and fled his body. I didn't think to seal him inside and…_fuck_, now there's so many holes. Like he's just leaking out of his soul."

Castiel swallows, because no part of that sounds good. Sam's still screaming mindlessly, his head thrown up into the air, sweat dripping off his face, and there's blood around his ears, making the headphones slick and falling out, and there's blood where the ropes are cutting into him because he's struggling so violently. Tristan has a hand on his Sire's shoulder, but he's not holding him down or doing anything to help. The twins' faces are stoic.

Outside, Dean recoils when _something_ inside of Luke and Sofia rises up and claws at him, latching onto his essence like the demon's outside of his body. The children's eyes flare open yellow and they grin at him. _"Mine_," Sofia whispers, grabbing hold of Dean's neck and pulling him down, and she's fucking strong for a child, and Dean's too shocked to fight back in time to avoid her kiss. It tastes like ash and blood and when he pushes her away, he sees blood around her mouth and knows it's on his too. She's smiling like she's triumphant. "You'll be mine again, Dean," she whispers once more, and then her body convulses, her eyes roll back into her head, and she lays still. Luke follows her not long after.

Before Dean can even think about the fact that two children just _died _right in front of him, because of something he may have directly or indirectly caused, he's suddenly overcome with a feeling of heaviness, like he's just swallowed a rock and it's sitting heavy and solid in his stomach. He coughs, dry-heaving, trying to get rid of the sensation but it just sinks deeper, and grows barbs and latches onto his insides, cutting him open and soaking in his blood. When Dean coughs again, blood sprays out onto the back of his hand and the female half breed's bloody feathers. Malachai's just staring at him in horror.

* * *

Sam suddenly goes limp and Gabriel draws his hand out very slowly, carefully like he's trying to dislodge a tiny piece of a structure without having the whole damn thing collapse on him, and sighs in relief when nothing happens with the removal of his hand. "There," he whispers. "It's okay."

"Sam is healed?"

Gabriel shakes his head. "No, but I managed to stop whatever the fuck was happening." Absently, he wipes his hand on his jeans, though there is nothing there but his own skin. "This won't work, Castiel," he says, shaking his head again and turning to the Seraph. "We need to try something else."

"Cas." The Angel turns, finds Dean leaning heavily against the doorframe, looking almost drunk. The demon's so out of it – one eye is black, the other is a weird mix that Castiel's never seen before. Almost amber, with dirt inside of it or an insect of green. It's strange and disconcerting.

Dean turns away from those gathered in the room, looking back towards the bodies, and takes a deep breath. Castiel then notices the blood around his mouth. "The…Luke and Sofia…" Dean coughs again, wincing as every movement makes his gut and chest ache, and he slides down the side of the doorframe, holding his hand up his mouth. Malachai joins him not seconds later, a hand on his father's forehead, his eyes closed, and Dean's coughing abates for a second, his eyes closed at the temporary relief.

"What happened to them?" Castiel asks, afraid of the answer.

Dean's eyes open again and he laughs – it's a harsh, angry sound. "They're fucking dead, that's what happened." He holds his hands to his head, closing his eyes once more. "Fuck…this is my fault. I was meant to protect them."

"No one could have foreseen this." Gabriel's voice is low and he steps away from Sam. The twins follow along closely behind, shadowing and flanking him like he's some sort of twisted mob boss. His eyes are wide and fixed on the demon. "Castiel, look."

The Seraph's brow furrows in confusion, but Gabriel won't explain more – he just jerks his head towards Dean again with a meaningful look. The Seraph keeps looking, but doesn't see it – Dean just looks sick, like he's coming down with a fever and the only bad thing about that is that he's never heard of a demon getting sick before. Then, his eyes widen when something…_moves_ inside of his mate, and Dean moans softly again, resting his forehead against his son's neck.

"_Amber_," he whispers, his wings falling in understanding. "No…" He looks to Gabriel, whose expression is grim.

There, amongst the black of Dean's soul, swirls the beginning of a marbled yellow taint.

* * *

Anna had not been there when her daughter died. Dean takes it on himself to tell her the news, and then he holds her when she cries, her wings shaking and her body heaving with sobs. Castiel's just selfishly glad that Uriel had died in the escape attempt, because he does not think Dean could have handled that a second time. Or perhaps it would have been better, if Uriel had been angry and blamed him and taken it out on Dean. Castiel knows his mate has a bit of a self-loathing streak inside of him, and craves punishment for things he thinks is his fault. Still, that doesn't mean Castiel wants it to happen.

They salt and burn Luke and Sofia's bodies because there are some things that Dean will not let them risk, and the house is quiet for a long time after that, before Dean finally asks, "What now?"

"Now?" Gabriel sighs, sitting back. "Now we try something else." Dean looks over at him, surprised. "I knew you both before you went to Hell, Dean," Gabriel says quietly. "There is good in Sam, and he is my mate, and I suppose, in some twisted kind of strange not-healthy way, I care about him. I suppose I have to love him, or my children wouldn't exist. I want him to survive this and make it out alive as much as you do."

Dean makes a surprised, grateful noise, and presses his forehead against Gabriel's briefly. "But whatever it was you tried, it didn't work…" He winces, cutting himself off, rubbing at his chest, which has been hurting ever since the incident with Luke and Sofia.

"There are other things we can try, and this time I shall be much more careful." Gabriel's voice is hard and determined, and Dean swallows, the desire to save Sammy warring with the need to make sure everyone is kept safe and the tragedy does not repeat itself, but eventually he nods, because Sam is…is _Sam_. End of. "And I did manage to get rid of a good portion of it already."

"Where did it go?" Dean asks. "It can't have just disappeared."

The table is silent, and Castiel can feel Gabriel's eyes boring into the side of his face for a long while, before he slides his hand forward and takes Dean's in his own, his wing curving around the demon's shoulders.

"We don't know," he says, "but we're working on it."

Dean nods, accepting the lie. It's the first time Castiel's ever lied to Dean, and he hates the feeling of it, how it settles like sour honey in the back of his throat. He sighs, and presses his nose into Dean's cheek, holding him close, and prays for the first time in a long time, that they make it out of this okay. That they will all survive, and that Dean gets his brother back, no matter what that means for Castiel. He just wants his demon, his mate, to be happy.

He thinks Dean deserves at least that.


	22. Blood Ties

**Title:**Blood Ties  
**Author:**HigherMagic  
**Pairings:** Demon!Dean/Fallen!Castiel, Demon!Sam/Fallen!Gabriel, mentions of Dean/Sam  
**Rating:** R  
**Word Count:** ~3,100  
**Spoilers: **None (This is AU)  
**Summary:** This isn't the first time Dean's done something stupid to save his brother.  
**Notes/Warnings:** Lots of bloody, gory, evil boys doing stuff to each other. Mpreg.  
Unbeta'd. All mistakes are my own.

* * *

"Without anywhere for the pieces of Sam to _go_, the parts of him that I tear out will just end up in Dean again and we'll be back to square one."

The Angels are whispering, either not aware or not noticing that Dean is leaning against the wall that separates the kitchen and dining room. He can't believe they don't know he's there, but they keep talking anyway;

"Can't you seal the thing inside the room or something?" That's Castiel. His voice is a low hiss and Dean smiles a little, picturing him leaning forward over the table towards his Brother, his eyes wide and dark like when he's begging for something.

"They'd either go into me, or the twins. And I…" Gabriel swallows, and there's the sound of his wings rustling around him. "I don't want to risk it. Not for the reasons you think I don't – I just…Tristan and Evelyn already burn so _dark_. They are half-Sam. I don't want to press the balance. And once we get all of the darkness out of Sam we will have to destroy it. I don't want to kill my children, Cas."

There's a silence and then Castiel sits back. "I understand," the Seraph replies, voice soft with understanding, because he wouldn't risk Malachai that way either. But _Dean's_ the one in trouble here and his mate is just as important. "Then what can we do?"

Gabriel sighs, rubbing his hands through his hair and then over his face. "I don't know," the Archangel growls, sounding defeated and exhausted, even more so than when he'd broken – even then, he'd always maintained a kind of lucidity and didn't adopt blind devotion. He'd never really just _shattered_. "The…the pieces…it's like they can recognize things. They went after Dean – they would go after me and the twins…They recognize parts of themselves, which makes me think the host has to be specific, maybe bound by blood or something. But I'm not going to find a blood relative just so that we'll have to destroy him or her. I…" He makes another soft, frustrated sound. "I don't know what we _can_ do."

Dean frowns, placing a hand to his gut, where the spiked-leaden-ball feeling had been. It had only been three days since the incident with the twins but the feeling still has to go away. He feels…_heavy_. Tired. On edge. He doesn't understand what Gabriel is saying – they went after him? What the fuck does that mean?

Taking a deep breath, Dean steps out into the entryway into the kitchen. Immediately the Angels go quiet as Dean takes a seat at the circular wooden table in the middle, and remain silent when Dean stares at them one at a time. He can't believe they're going to try and pretend he doesn't know exactly what they were talking about.

Finally, the silence gets to him, but Castiel breaks it before he does; "How much did you hear, Dean?" His wings are pinned tightly to his back, his feathers slightly ruffled and standing on-end. Agitated and nervous.

Dean snorts and smirks a little. "Enough," he replies. Castiel visibly deflates, his eyes closed and he pinches the bridge of his nose with his thumb and the knuckle of his forefinger, digging the tip into the hollow above his cheekbone. "What are you keeping from me, Cas?" he whispers, and he thinks that, given the gravity of the ambience and Gabriel's drawn expression, he should be afraid. Or at least full of dread, but he's not. He's…strangely calm. Absent of feeling.

"How can you not know?" Castiel answers after a half-beat of silence, opening his eyes and looking towards Dean. He looks almost angry. "I can't touch you anymore, you know that? You haven't asked for me or reached for me since the children died. It…_snarls_ at me. I can hear it."

Dean frowns, straightening. "What are you talking about?" he demands.

Without a word, Castiel's jaw clenches and he reaches forward, sealing his hand over the print on Dean's shoulder, through his shirt. Not even a second goes by before the overwhelming sense of _rage_ and _possession _encompasses Dean, hard enough to make the demon gasp and curl in on himself. All-consuming anger flares inside of him from the spiked ball in his gut, a snarling, growling _thing_ inside of him with serrated, jagged teeth and he feels it rear up, ready to attack Castiel and he throws himself back, pushes the Angel's hand away and backs up quickly against the wall, breathing hard and stumbling.

"Oh my God…" he whispers, clutching at his chest, eyes wide and fully black with just a hint of yellow around the iris. He grabs blindly for something to hold him up but there's nothing there and he slides down to a crouch. "What the…what the _fuck_ is that?" He can't quite look at Castiel, so he focuses on the Angel's feet instead.

The Seraph stands and Dean shrinks away from him, because that anger…that is _terrifying_. Dean feels shaken – he runs a hand through his hair and it's damp from sweat, and his fingers shake so he clenches one hand in his hair, one plastered over his gut, which is starting to ache.

"You know," Castiel murmurs, kneeling down. "When Gabriel was trying to remove some of Sam's taint, we think it might have gone into you. We think that it's…finding a new host." There's pain when he's saying it, but Dean can only stare in horror, a sudden realization coming to him.

"It said I'd be his again," he whispers, and Castiel cocks his head to one side in confusion. "When…Luke and Sofia died…she kissed me, and she had his yellow eyes, and she whispered that I would be hers. _'Mine again'_. It…" He shakes his head again, closing his eyes. "Fuck."

"This is not your fault, Dean," Castiel whispers, his voice low and sincere, and Dean can tell that he so badly wants to touch his mate, to comfort him, but he can't – they just proved that. Dean wants Castiel to just touch him…put a hand on his shoulder, _anything_, but he thinks that if he did, Dean would want to kill him. "No one could have foreseen this."

"It's just going to get worse, isn't it?" Dean asks, looking up into his Angel's eyes, finally managing to get the strength to push himself to his feet. "And you were going to _hide this_ from me?" His words are soft and hissed with hatred and lingering anger, betrayal, disbelieving that Castiel would _do _something like that. "What if it happened again? What if I had tried to touch you or Malachai or something?"

Castiel swallows. "I'm not repentant for my decision, Dean," he replies steadily, meeting Dean's eyes though it hurts to see the black and yellow in the demon's gaze. "I had believed that there was a solution. There _is _a solution. Gabriel and I will try and figure out what we can do."

"You can't…this isn't something you should do on your own," Dean insists, taking a step forward, but Castiel mirrors him and steps back, shoulders tense. Dean swallows and halts as well, looking down at Castiel's chest. "You have to let me help."

"We could use his help, Castiel," Gabriel says, making himself known to the pair, as he stands at Castiel's shoulder and places a hand on his Brother's arm, making their gazes meet. "He has valuable and unique knowledge of Sam. Perhaps he could help us."

Immediately, Castiel tenses, wings puffing up in aggression. "Are you suggesting what I think you are?" he growls softly, eyes flashing as he meets Gabriel's, but the Archangel is stoic.

"I'll do anything for Sammy, Cas," Dean says before Gabriel can reply. And it _hurts_ the Seraph, hearing such devotion and _love _in his demon mate's voice for a man that is not him, that is the monster that is Sam Winchester, but he refuses to hate what Dean loves. He forces his wings to smooth out and closes his eyes. "Anything I have to do, I will do." Dean's eyes stare into the side of Castiel's head, begging him to understand.

"That's what scares me," Castiel confesses, his words barely above a whisper, and neither Gabriel nor Dean answer. "Alright," he says, opening his eyes and shaking his wings out behind him. "Let's just get this over with."

* * *

Just as he was not prepared for the anger, Dean is not prepared for the emotions he feels when he steps over the threshold into Sam's room. Tristan and Evelyn are both there, the female half breed's hand on his father's shoulder, healing his burst eardrums and hemorrhaging brain. Dean swallows, seeing the blood dry on his brother's skin, unable to do anything to help his baby brother. _Sammy_.

Sam's dark soul has been torn at. Viciously. Like someone made him swallow a grenade and, though his body was undamaged in the explosion, his insides took the whole brunt of the blow. Dean swallows, folding his arms over his chest as his gut _aches_, and he can't help wanting to step closer to Sam.

"The Devil's Trap won't work against him," Dean whispers, reaching out and trailing a hand through Sam's hair, tilting his head back. The headphones have slid out of his ears from the excess of blood and he's unconscious, his eyes closed and his face blank. He almost looks dead but Dean can hear his slow, steady heartbeat. "Salt, holy water…neither of us is affected by them." To demonstrate, he steps into the circle of sigils around Sam's chair and then steps back out. "He…" Dean stops at that, swallowing again, feeling such…_love_, _devotion_…a _need_ to make Sam better, to take him away and get him out of this awful place, and then let Sammy back in again. Make the unit that is the Winchester Brothers whole again.

He wipes absently at his face and finds that his cheeks are wet with tears. He wipes some more and steps away, not looking at Castiel or Gabriel or Tristan who are looking at him. Evelyn lingers silently at her sire's side.

"That's probably how they got out…the parts of him…"

"We can't seal him inside his body because that defeats the point of what we're trying to do." Dean nods – he understands. "And if Devil's Traps won't work, then sigils on the door won't either. We need a host," Gabriel says. "Or it will keep choosing you."

Dean laughs a little – it's a bitter, broken sound, and he wipes at his face some more until Sam stirs, groaning softly and lifting his head. "Sammy?" Dean whispers, stepping closer to his brother and Evelyn moves back to give them room. Sam's eyes flicker open and they are bright and hazel. "Sammy? You okay? How you feelin'?"

It hurts how Castiel has to watch his mate be so hopeful, so happy despite this catastrophe, despite how much he's hurting inside, and being unable to comfort him. Unable to reach out and slide his Grace along the demon's soul for fear of angering the part of him that isn't Dean. The rustle of his wings draws Dean's attention but the demon only stills – he doesn't turn his head.

"Dean." Sam's voice is rough from screaming. He coughs and swallows and Dean just shushes him, running a hand through his hair. "What…." Inside of Sam's body, the swirling yellow taint is decreased, but it is by no means gone. It rises up, pressing against the inside of Sam's skin and Sam's eyes slowly swirl to marbled yellow. "Why aren't you helping me out of this, Dean?" he asks, no softness in his voice now – just hard-edged disappointment and Dean tenses a little, swallowing again. His eyes slide to black so that the green will give nothing away.

"We're helping you, Sammy," Dean whispers, but he doesn't sound as sure as he was before. "We're gonna…gonna get you better."

Sam sneers derisively, tossing his head to free himself from Dean's grip. The demon shies away, expecting a blow from his powerful brother but, of course, none comes. "They're using you, Dean. That's what the Fallen do."

The statement obviously catches Dean by surprise – a flicker of indecision shows on his face as he looks to Castiel briefly, then back at Sam. Castiel's wings ruffle in aggravation but he remains silent for the moment.

"Who do you think really ran things, hmm, Dean? Who do you think poisoned me and killed our mother? Killed our father? Killed you and me? Azazel – Fallen Angels, Dean, they're worse than Changelings. Worse than me and you and everything else. They're corruption with an Angel's face, big brother." Then, he laughs. He throws his head back and laughs and Dean flinches at the sound because _God,_ it's _wrong_.

"Enough of this," Castiel growls, seeing how Sam's words are affecting his mate, and he steps forward and makes a grab for Dean's arm. The demon lets himself be pulled back. "Enough of your corrupting tongue."

Sam snarls, baring bloodied teeth and the yellow taint inside of Dean flares up aggressively, responding to the whiter light of the Angel's Grace. Dean snarls and recoils, tearing his arm away and baring his teeth at Castiel, putting himself between his mate and his master. He feels torn, literally split in half and he just doesn't know what to do, what to _think_. Everything that makes him the man he was before knows he should protect Sam, should trust him, should want him safe and out of this situation, but he just…he _knows_. He _can't_.

"Dean…" Castiel's voice is low and soft, his hand outstretched towards his mate, shaking slightly. Dean stares at it like Castiel's holding a poisonous snake.

"You can only trust blood, Dean. My blood – your blood too. What would Dad think of this?"

Dean closes his eyes, feeling the words like a blow to his heart. He swallows and turns back towards Sam. "Dad isn't here," he whispers, eyes flashing back to green for the briefest second. "It's just you and me, Sammy. Just you and me here."

Sam grins again. "And?"

"I can't…this isn't right, Sammy. I…" Dean shakes his head. "I can't just be lookin' after you, now. I have more than you to take care of and I trust that you will be taken care of, eventually."

Sam snarls again. "They're lying to you, Dean. Soon true family will rise from Hell and march on this little haven you've created for yourself. Real family – the loyal, unlike you. You are not my family now, Dean."

"Silence," Gabriel hisses, finally having enough. His wings are flared up in aggression and Dean steps away, towards Castiel, to make room for him. "You need to stop talking now." With a press of two fingertips against Sam's forehead, the demon goes limp. Dean swallows again. He shakes his head when Castiel tries to touch him, holding up a hand to ward off any contact.

"I have to go. Get some fresh air," he whispers, and practically flees out of the door. Castiel watches him with wounded eyes.

"We're doing the right thing, Castiel," Gabriel says, laying a hand on his Brother's shoulder, then turns to the twins. "Leave your father to rest now," he orders quietly, and Tristan nods, taking Evelyn's hand and lacing their fingers together, tugging them outside. Gabriel presses his forehead gently to Castiel's cheek, and then takes his leave as well, leaving the Boy King and Fallen Angel alone in the room.

For a long moment, Castiel just stares at the limp form of Sam's body, jaw clenched, arms folded and hands pressed tightly against his biceps so that he doesn't fidget, but his wings give him away. He runs a hand through his hair and sighs.

"All this trouble to save you," he whispers, watching Sam's face for any sign of being heard, but Gabriel's put him into a very deep sleep and he is unlikely to wake any time soon. "I will protect him from you. It's my job. It's always been my job – to protect him from evil things, to get him ready for the trials ahead. I guess I didn't factor in the trial of you. He'll do anything for you." He smirks bitterly. "Absolutely anything. I'd fucking hit him for it if I wasn't the exact same way." He sighs, wings dropping a little, and looks down at the sigils around Sam's feet. "I'll fix you, and you better take fucking good care of him, you hear? I'm not letting him go without a fight – not even close – but you'll probably win. After all…" He snorts bitterly again. "Blood binds you together."

* * *

Dean stays outside for a long time, well after the sun sets and darkness descends over the little utopia Gabriel's created for them. It's too still here, too perfect…He's used to storms, to Noah's Ark floods, to bad omens and lightning storms and muggy days that you pray for days will end with a little breeze. Not this perfect, pleasant weather. Maybe he'll ask for summer rains. Maybe he'll pray for them.

He laughs bitterly, looking down to the ground between his feet, toying with his fingers absently. Everyone's either asleep inside or leaving him alone. He closes his eyes and thinks, for a long time. It's just…something that isn't sitting right. Some clue that he's missing…something that can solve his problems.

_It recognizes things…_

_True family will rise…_

_I could feel you, back in Hell…_

_Well, I did have your blade…_

Dean's eyes flare open when he realizes. He shoves himself to his feet, almost stumbling in his eagerness, elation running through him when he realizes. Sam's blade. _Sam_. The demon part of Sam, for there has to be a demon for a demon blade. That could…that would be recognized as Sam's essence…would attract the awful parts of Sam, and could be destroyed, or banished.

Dean falls to his knees and laughs. The answer's so obvious; he can't believe he didn't see this before. Sam's blade…it'll be difficult, it'll be dangerous, but he can do that…will do that for Sammy. He doesn't want to go back there but he will – if it means Sam will be safe, he will do it.

"Sammy…Sammy…" He laughs again, punching the ground hard and clutching at the leaden ball of pain in his gut. "I've gotcha, Sammy. I've gotcha."


	23. Fascinating

**Title:** Fascinating  
**Author:** HigherMagic  
**Pairings:** Demon!Dean/Fallen!Castiel, mentions of Dean/Sam  
**Rating:** R  
**Word Count:** ~4,300  
**Spoilers:** Season Two/Four-esque.  
**Summary:** Castiel doesn't exactly like Dean's plan. It's too bad Dean's done taking orders.  
**Notes/Warnings:** Demon!boys. Mpreg. ANGST LIKE WOAH. Character death and graphic fights.  
Unbeta'd. All mistakes are my own.

* * *

The Angel's voice is hard and without leniency, as he stares at his mate with a mix of fear (not_ of_ him, but_ for_ him) and fury. "No," Castiel grits out, his feathers ruffling behind him, largest pair of wings already starting to fan out to make himself look bigger.

The demon growls softly in response to the threat display, the now-familiar but no less terrifying _rage_ rising up in him; rage that someone or something _other _than Sam is trying to cow him. "How can you say 'No' to this?" he demands, stepping closer to his Angel. Castiel's eyes follow his every movement like when prey eyes up the predator but the Seraph won't back down. He can't – not about this. "This will save both of my brothers – _both _of them, Cas. I can't just leave Adam to die down there, and I can't leave Sam here to be tortured for the rest of his life while I sit by and do nothing. It's not right!"

"I won't have you ruining everything that I have done for you, Dean," Castiel bites back, upper lip curling back to bare his teeth. The lights overhead in the kitchen flicker in response to the influx of demon and Angel powers. Dean's glad that, at least for now, no one seems willing to disturb them, or someone could get hurt. "I rebelled," he hisses, advancing on Dean, wings flaring out, eyes flashing, "I fell, I bore a bastard half breed son and carry another inside of me, and I did it, all of it, for you…" One pale hand jabs into Dean's chest, harshly enough to send the demon back against the wall, but Castiel doesn't press his advantage – the amber taint inside of Dean keeps him at bay, for now." And you would go and destroy it all for the sake of its cause! What gives you the right, Dean Winchester, to tear away everything I have tried to build – for you, for me, for _everyone _you broke – for the sake of this _monster_?"

For a brief moment, Dean can only stare – Castiel is angry, sure, but underneath it, there's trepidation. Real, honest-to-God fear and Dean's not quite sure why. "You can't…" He swallows, and shakes his head, and rubs the sore spot in his chest where Castiel's blow had come. "You can't even touch me, Cas." He sounds pained, saying it, and looks down. "Would you not save me as well?"

"I…_Dean_." The Angel makes a frustrated sound, stepping forward so that Dean can feel the heat of his Grace, but he can't touch the demon and it's killing him. "You know that's not -."

"…Don't make me choose between my brothers and you, Cas," Dean says, interrupting him, and lifts his head to meet the Angel's eyes. He raises his chin in a challenge, eyes flashing black for a brief moment, and Castiel swallows. "You know what I'll choose. I swear to God, I'll do it."

"…Dean, think of your son."

It is the wrong thing to say – Castiel knows that as soon as the words are out of his mouth, but he says them anyway and watches as the Hunter's eyes grow stormy. "I am a danger to him as long as I am here," he says, voice going hard, solid, like his mind's made up. He pushes himself away from the wall and, without thinking about it, Castiel moves to block him, to stand between Dean and the door. He can't just let this go. "He is in danger as long as that evil is in Sam. If I do this – go to Hell, and get Sam's blade, _and rescue Adam_…I'll be able to look him in the eye again."

The Angel growls when Dean takes another step. They're standing so close – they would be touching if either of them could allow it. When Dean exhales, Castiel can feel it on his lips. "Let me through, Cas," he whispers.

"Not if you're doing this out of shame." The words come harshly, spat at the demon with anger and fear, veiled with contempt and disgust. Dean swallows and his gaze falls away. "How can you be ashamed? Look at me, damn it!" Without thinking, he grabs a hold of Dean's shoulder, sealing his hand over the handprint burned into Dean's flesh, and jerks the demon hard enough that Dean _has_ to look at him.

The effect is instantaneous. Dean's eyes flash yellow and he snarls loudly, grabbing a hold of Castiel and throwing him against the wall. Castiel gasps when he feels pain lance up and down his spine, arms, and through his wings. He winces when Dean's forearm becomes pressed against his throat, the demon easily lifting him as though he weighs nothing so Castiel's only being supported by his throat, his feet dangling an inch from the floor.

Dean's eyes are a dark amber color – Castiel can see himself in them and the effect is frightening, like he's slowly being drowned in their cloying depths. The demon cocks his head to one side like an insect, watching Castiel for a long moment as the Angel struggles and grasps at Dean's arm, trying to breathe, trying to find something to stand against. He swears he can hear the rattle of a snake when Dean exhales, pressing his bared teeth against the side of Castiel's face, inhaling at his temple. Dean's other arm lashes out and pins Castiel's wings to the wall before the Angel can get up the momentum to push him away.

"Fascinating," Dean whispers in a voice that isn't his own – it has whispers and echoes behind it and it makes Castiel's very Grace shiver. His eyes go half-lidded and he smiles his Cheshire cat smile, but it's all _wrong._ "The lengths you'd go for him…"

Castiel growls, gritting his teeth against the pain, and his nails sink into the skin of Dean's forearm, trying to get the demon to let go. "Release him," he growls, knowing he is speaking to the darkness inside of Dean, the darkness that was put there when they'd tried to cure Sam – Sam's evil. Azazel's taint.

Dean just laughs.

Suddenly the demon is flung back and Castiel slides down the wall, holding his throat and gulping in deep, relieved lungfuls of air, his wings curling around himself protectively before he can think about it even though it hurts to move them. There's the crash of falling metal and glass and splintering wood as Dean comes into contact with a cabinet, shattering the glass door and much of the contents inside. He falls to the ground on impact, groaning, whatever forces that had flung him back obviously done with him for now.

"Dad, are you okay?" Malachai. That's Malachai's voice. Castiel registers it dimly as he tries to blink away the spots that had formed in front of his eyes. He winces, pressing a hand to his stomach, feeling like he's going to be sick. He feels soft touches in his feathers and knows his son is trying to get to him, so he parts his wings and, sure enough, Malachai's face swims into his vision. He gasps again.

"I'm fine, Mal, I'm fine," he says, letting the half breed help him to his feet, just as there's another groan from the other side of the room. Dean rolls himself to his hands and knees, pressing his forearms into the glass-littered floor, and Castiel winces again when the sick scent of blood reaches his nose – Dean's bleeding. Pretty badly, if the smell is anything to go by. "See to your father," he says, pushing at Malachai's back but the boy shakes his head.

"Let him get to his own feet," he growls, eyes flashing for a moment, and Dean turns his head to look at the both of them.

He laughs breathlessly, pushing himself slowly to a kneeling position. His palms press hard into the hardwood floor and the glass and metal lying on it, as though he's intentionally trying to cut himself. He has to use the back of a chair to stagger to his feet and, though Castiel wants to help him, he stays back, holding his ground, and tries to focus on not throwing up.

Eventually Dean manages to shove himself upright. He laughs breathlessly again, pressing a bloody hand to the back of his head and wincing. "Fucking clones of each other," he growls, shaking his head, eyes flashing to the Angel and half breed. "Before I collared him, he'd try to do that too." There's blood around his teeth when he smiles – he may have bitten his tongue or worse, be coughing up blood, but Castiel can't tell and that infuriates him.

Malachai looks to his father, then to his sire. "What were you doing?" he asks in a voice that is low and even, completely poker-faced.

"It was my fault," Castiel says, laying a hand on Malachai's shoulder. The half breed wheels around and hisses at him, wings flaring up aggressively.

"Don't you fucking dare take the fall for him! Look what he did to you!" he shouts, gesturing at Castiel's body.

Just as Castiel is about to reply, to tell Malachai that it _was _his fault and that Dean is blameless, the demon chuckles again, picking glass out of his back with stifled expressions of pain. "No, Cas, let him hate me. He should." He shakes his head, picking out a particularly large piece from the back of his neck – it had gone right into his neck. Would have killed him if he were still human. "Means if I don't come back, he won't be sad."

Castiel sobs once, brokenly. "Why can't you just let this go?" he asks, his eyes begging when he meets them with Dean's, but he can see that the demon still intends to go through with his suicide mission. "Just…_stay_, Dean. Just _stay_."

"No. I'm going to do this." He pauses, looking to Malachai, then to Castiel's swollen stomach, and then finally to the Angel's face again. "You would make me into what you hate at the cost of what I love," he whispers, voice heavy with meaning. "There's no logic in this, Cas."

"What do you mean?" the Angel asks, torn between the desire to run to Dean and hold him back as though Castiel can physically keep him from leaving, or for just beating the ever-loving crap out of Dean so that he _can't_. "What do you mean by that?" he demands instead, wiping the back of his hand across his eyes where a few traitorous tears have begun to slip out. He still feels sick.

"I mean Balthazar." The name is spat with hatred and revulsion, Dean's voice growing dark and low when he says it, but his eyes are sincere and very green. Castiel swallows, knowing then what Dean means. "He left you behind to rot and you hate him." Dean takes a step forward, pointing accusingly at Castiel, and then out the door. "Adam and Sam…I can't have them look at me the way you looked at him, Cas. The way Malachai looks at me. The way you look at someone you hate. I can't do it." Dean's voice is getting thick too and he swallows, blinking rapidly, trying to get control of himself again. He rubs his hands over his face and then through his hair. "They're my family."

"_I _am your family," Castiel snarls, finally losing his patience. He gestures at their son. "_He_ is your family! For fuck's sake, Dean, whose side are you on?"

"I'm on no one's side! That's the whole fucking point!" the demon shouts, slashing his hand through the air and the chair he had used to push himself to his feet goes flying, crashing through the window and out into the open air beyond. Castiel jumps away from the sound, eyes wide and Malachai immediately flares his metallic wings out to protect his father. "God damn it, Cas, can't you understand that? My whole fucking life, I've looked after people who couldn't look after themselves – I looked after Sam, _I raised _that ungrateful little shit, and then I helped my Dad when he came in bleeding from five different places and drunk off his ass_. I save people._ I used to…I used _to help people._ It's what I _did_, and I'm trying to get that back. And right now, right this fucking second, Sam needs me more than you do. Adam needs me more than you do. _I _need to be better – I need to get better to help anyone, and you're telling me that the only way…you're _forbidding _it?" Dean barks out a short, sharp laugh, baring his teeth in a bitter smile. "You fuck me once and you think you own me. Well you don't, Cas. You never will."

For a long moment the room is silent, and then Dean straightens, breathing heavily after his long speech. "Make sure this meat suit's better by the time I come back," he spits out, before he throws his head back, leaving his body behind. The thick black cloud that makes up the demon's essence flies up and out of Dean's mouth.

"No!" Castiel reaches out, trying to grab onto Dean's essence with his Grace and trap the demon in with them, but Dean's too quick and slithers out of the smashed-open window before Castiel can get a hold of him. "Damn it!" he snarls, already flaring his wings out to try and follow him, but pain flashes up and down his spine whenever he tries to move his wings. He can't fly. "_Fuck_," he hisses, because it seems like the only think he _can_ say.

Malachai swallows, and then places a hand on Castiel's shoulder. "It'll be alright, Dad," he whispers, turning to look his father in the eye. The Seraph's doubt at that clearly shows on his face. "Come on," Malachai urges, pulling one of Castiel's arms over his shoulders. "Let's take you to Evelyn and make sure you're alright."

* * *

Dean might be going into this with guns half-cocked, but he's not doing it stupidly. He takes possession of a man who'd spent the past three years circling the drain, dying of kidney failure without any hope of a donor due to his age and substance abuse – the only reason he hadn't died yet was because the doctors were that good and so was his insurance.

The meat suit is…unflattering, but it will have to do. Dean finds the Impala – sitting and gathering rust in an impound lock after being taken for evidence to his murder in that house. He pets over her hood, cooing softly to his beloved car, but doesn't have time for a long reunion like she deserves. Though the trunk is demon-proofed, he knows how to slice through the sigils so that he can reach the things inside. He grabs bags of salt and puts them into the pockets of the meat suit's jacket that he stole from an inattentive man in a Laundromat. He loads up two guns with salt rounds and shoves one into the back of his pants (again, the Laundromat), and keeps the other at hand. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, summoning up his blade into his other hand.

Even though Hell is already on fire, he's not going to do this half-assed. He wants to see the entire place reduced to rubble. He'll do it if it means getting Sam and Adam out safely. He might have to search the whole Goddamned place, but he'll do it.

* * *

He only knows the location to one Devil's Gate. The railroads haven't been repaired around them from Azazel's attempt at opening the Gate, so he passes right on through without a hitch…but there's a problem.

There're Angels at the Gate.

Dean snarls, crouching down behind some thick shrubbery (like that will hide him from their Sight) and takes stock of the situation. There're three of them – he recognizes Kushiel, Balthazar and what looks like Stunt Angel Number Three. The corner of his mouth goes up in a bitter smile, because while he'd taken the whole nine yards for demon-killing, he hadn't thought about Angels. He has nothing to kill them with – having given Castiel his blade back, the demon doesn't have the means to summon it, and he doesn't have any Holy Oil to hand.

"Damn it," he mutters, deciding, quite appropriately, 'To Hell with it', and cocking his gun anyway – may as well make the mofos hurt while he could. He's just about to make a run for the Gate when a hand on his shoulder stops him.

He damn near almost shoots Malachai in the face.

"Holy…_fuck_, boy," he growls, letting out a sound that is half a relieved laugh, half an exasperated snarl. "Don't sneak up on me like that. How did you find me?"

The half breed cocks his head to one side and smirks a little, in an expression that is all Dean. It actually kind of hurts to see it. "You're quite predictable, Dad," he says, nodding towards the Gate and the three Angels guarding it. "I think they knew that too." He holds up a thin blade that looks as though it is made of silver and chrome, but Dean knows from experience that it is much, much stronger than that. Much more deadly. He knows because it's Castiel's blade. "He figured if I was going to help, I should do it right," Malachai explains.

"Like Hell," Dean replies, "are you going in with me. You're staying right here."

"Hmm…" Malachai cocks his head to one side, eyes narrowing. "No. I'm really not."

"God damn it, Mal…"

"You would have wanted Sam to stay, or Dad to stay, or Grandfather to stay." Dean swallows at the sudden mention of his own father – God, how disappointed he must be. "And they would have all come in with you. I will not be any different." He rolls his wrist, making the blade curl through the air and Dean swears, he can hear it whistle. "I'm trained to fight, Dad. Don't deny me my chance now."

"I always thought that if I'd had kids, I would do it differently," Dean confesses, suddenly feeling the need to say this now – if he doesn't come back, and all that jazz. Malachai needs to know. The half breed fixes dark, attentive green eyes on his father. "That I would do better than my father – that I would at least try to give them a decent life." He snorts bitterly. "I couldn't have failed more."

Malachai snorts. "No talk of that," he says softly, taking Dean's shoulder again and squeezing – blood recognizing blood, the yellow taint doesn't stir except to curiously stretch towards the new touch. Dean shudders at the implications of that. "Let's go, Dad. I want to know uncle Sam – the _real_ uncle Sam. And I want to save my other uncle too."

Dean chuckles breathlessly, because _Uncle Sam_, that'll be a laugh riot when and if they make it out of this. He nods, swallowing, and checks that his gun is loaded and ready, as per habit. "Alright, boy," he says, getting ready to stand. "Make me proud."

For warriors, Angels are not good with ambushes.

Dean supposes it makes sense – they're probably used to epic battles of two sides facing each other with their Generals at the back, waiting to give orders, for the charge, the stuff of romanticized English battles with knights and lances and all that shit.

Dean's style (and, evidently, Malachai's) is not like that. The demon finds it interesting how easily he can sneak up on the Angels, in fact. Kushiel goes first – she senses the dark creatures nearby amidst the background evil of being so near the Gate and cries out, uncoiling her whip, but she's not as fast as Malachai's blade – Dean trained him well. It's almost the stuff of war poetry how Malachai easily tears through her vessel, ripping her apart with the blade – silently, stealthily, completely like a predator. Dean takes out his own blade and goes for Balthazar; he bares the Angel's Grace and rips it out with his bare hands. It pulses faintly, trying to fight back, but Balthazar is still weak, evidently, and he easily crushes it and rips it apart. The third Angel – Raguel, by the cry of alarm from Balthazar – is more powerful and a better fighter. But his mistake is only watching Malachai, or Dean. Not both at the same time. Malachai distracts him with a blow to the head with his wings while Dean stabs him from behind, and Malachai severs his head with the razor edge of his fighting pair of wings.

Though there were only three Angels, the carnage is perhaps a little…excessive. Raguel, when he dies, makes that high-pitched whining sound and Dean winces, covering his ears at the noise, and then the Angel explodes, either dead or banished from his vessel. It takes a second for Dean to realize that the only reason he isn't dead is because Malachai's wings shielded him. He throws his son a grateful smile.

"You ready for this, boy?" he asks, wiping the blood from his blade onto his sleeve. He sniffs curiously at the blood, almost wanting a taste of it, just to see what it's like, but he resists and straightens up, sniffing and looking into the gaping maw of Hell. Already he can feel the oily caress of sulfur on his skin – it's like he's back there. Years upon years on the rack, sex, blood, violence, hatred and love and despair…everything evil, everything _wrong_, pouring on him, suffocating him, pressing the bright light of his soul into a hard black diamond under the weight and pressure of all those _souls_, all that _suffering_…

"Dad?" Dean is snapped out of his thoughts by Malachai's touch. "You ready?"

Dean straightens again, coughing into the back of his hand. He pulls out his gun and twirls his blade in his right hand, smirking grimly. "'_If you're goin' through Hell, keep on goin'…'"_ Father and son walk into Hell, side by side. Around them, Dean can feel eyes on him – knows that the evil will gradually start to come out without the Angel guard there. _"'Don't slow down'," _he whispers to his son, "_'if you're scared, don't show it'."_

Malachai throws him a look. "Is that a song?" he asks, cocking his head to one side.

Dean grins. "They play a lot of country music in Hell," he says, casting his eyes around again. "I gotta admit though, some of them got it right. _'You might get out 'fore the Devil even knows you're there…'._" Dean hums the rest of the song, both men walking without stopping, deeper and deeper into Hell. Already Dean feels the urge to turn around the flee back, but he came here for a reason and he'll be damned if he lets his fear get the better of him now.

The terrain levels out into the first level and Dean swallows, tightening his hand around his blade. "Be ready," he whispers to Malachai, who nods, lips thinning out into a grim expression. Then, Dean straightens up once more, and takes his gun and fires a shot downwards, into the darkness below. A million voices begin chittering and hissing at once, joining with the screams. "I'm home, you filthy sons of bitches!" he yells. "Come and get me!"

"What are you doing?" Malachai growls, wheeling on his father. For a brief second, indecision and horror wash through him, sure that this was all some elaborate plan of Dean's to get one of the half breeds back to Hell, and that he'll do it, one by one, to the rest of them, but Dean's already backing away, cocking his gun to fire another shot.

"I'm leading them away, idiot," he says with a roll of his eyes and a grin. "You go and find Adam, and Sam's blade. They'll be in the Palace, I should think. I'll lead them all the other way. Fly, Malachai, fly!"

"Dad, no! Wait!" Too late, Dean disappears down one of the many, many hallways in Hell, firing another shot and whooping loudly as he does so, the sounds of screams and angry yells getting louder and louder as he disappears; creatures finding him, following him. Malachai swallows, knowing that there's nothing for it, and he takes to the air. The air in Hell is dank and heavy and it is hard to fly there – there is no wind to carry them and the air condenses, heavy and wet, on his feathers, but he forces himself to fly.

Dean runs straight down to the second level without stopping – already he can hear the sounds of pursuit. He knows them well – Alistair had liked to make him run, like a mouse in a fucking maze. But it made him learn – he knows the terrain of Hell better than anyone. He knows the traps, the Pits, the places not to tread.

And, best of all, he knows how to alter all those places to suit _his_ needs. Without Sam here, and with Alistair dead, he is the most powerful demon residing in Hell, and he intends to use that advantage as much as he fucking can.

He's not going to die today. Of that he's certain.

_"'You might get out before the Devil even knows you're there…'."_ He grins, and keeps running, unsheathing his blade and slashing at the darkness as he runs, baring his teeth in grim satisfaction whenever it yelps and shrinks away.


End file.
